


The Necromancer's Guardian

by deanisthesun (become_normal)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Animal Death, Castiel's drink gets drugged during one scene but nothing untoward happens to him, Drugs, Halloween, Happy Ending, Horror, M/M, Orphan Castiel, Past Child Abuse, Soul Bond, Witch Castiel, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/become_normal/pseuds/deanisthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The laws of magic are bound to the Earth by a system of Guardianship. Legitimate magical use is passed down from generations by the assignation of a Guardian, but what happens when someone is born without a designated Guardian? And what to lengths will Castiel go to solve that problem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful editors Jess and Rachael, as always I could have never done this without you.  
> Huge shout out to my absolutely fantastic artist http://az26.tumblr.com/ whose beautiful art is sprinkled throughout the fic. You are so lovely and so patient with all of my last minute procrastination, I could not have asked for a better artist to do a collaboration with.  
> Finally, thank you to the DCBB mods for putting on a great challenge as they do every year. Stay awesome, guys. 
> 
> The soundtrack to this fic is Coldplay's Ghost Stories because they're my fave and I am weak. So without further ado...
> 
> PS: apparently the photos aren't showing up? unsure what the problem is but until i get it figured out please check em out [here](http://az26.livejournal.com/899.html). they're fantastic and gorgeous and lovely!!

A group of four sorcerers stand in a semicircle in an opulent drawing room, staring down at the body of a fifth at their feet.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” one witch says.

“Yes he did, ” another retorts, defending the murderer.

“He was creating too many problems for us,” says a third.

“He was going to reveal our secret!” the second witch hisses.

“Everybody shut up!” the murderer cries. The room goes quiet as the murderer wrings his stubby hands. The stench of death and decay fills the sitting room as the three witches wait for the murderer to speak again.

“Balthazar was a fool,” he finally says after a few minutes, sneering down at the body lying between them. “He never could have given us what we need.”

“Then what do we need?” the first witch asks.

“Balthazar had no motivation to do what we needed of him,” the murderer explains “What we need is someone in such profound desperation that they won’t think twice about double-crossing us.”

“So what, we pick up the nearest pathetic sod we find on the street and invite them to join our secret club?”

“No,” the murderer seethes. “We need someone smart, someone with true talent. A proper necromancer this time. But they need to be so shit out of luck it won’t matter how smart they are because we will be their only hope.”

An overwhelming sense of understanding swept through the room.

“We need another Unguardianed,” the third witch whispers.

“As long as they’re not an idiot this time, I’m with you,” the first witch says, shaking her head.

“They won’t be,” the murderer assures. “We’ll find someone intelligent. A master in the art of necromancy. We will find the most powerful necromancer the world has ever seen!”

~

“You want me to perform _necromancy_ on your _bunny rabbit_?”

Castiel looks down at Jess’s big pleading eyes in disbelief.

“No, it’s not _my_ rabbit, it’s Sam’s!” she cries. “I was supposed to be taking care of it while the Winchesters are away this week but it slipped my mind and when I got here this morning I found it dead and…” Jess sighs in defeat. “You know the rest.”

‘The rest’ is a frantic soul-call he received fifteen minutes ago that reverberated his adoptive sister’s hysteric cries for help through his body, waking him from a particularly fantastic dream about… well, not _Sam_ Winchester.

Being the fantastic older brother that he is, he hurriedly put on some clothes and grabbed his tan robe as he flung out the door. It’s a good thing the orphanage is just down the street from the Winchester’s home or he might not have gotten here in time.

Though looking down at the extremely plain, unimpressive, and definitely dead rabbit, he’s not sure it was worth it.

“Jess, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he tries to persuade her.

“Cassy please!” she begs again, her bright blue eyes swimming with tears. It’s a wonder how they’re not actually related. “They’re coming home today, but I don’t know what time-” Castiel seriously doubts it’s 7:00 in the morning, “- and I don’t want Sam to come back and find his rabbit dead because he’ll think it was my fault and that I’m irresponsible.”

“But it _is_ your fault.” Castiel gives her a pointed look. “And you _are_ irresponsible.”

“CAS!”

“Fine!” Begrudgingly, he agrees and immediately his mind begins to run through the list of items that he’s going to need to perform the spell. “I’m going to need a white candle, chalk, and a compass. Fast.” Jess hurries off to the Winchester’s second pantry, easily finding her way around the small potions and jars of ingredients. They’ve been here enough times to know the layout of the house decently well. She returns moments later with the items he requested and holds them out to him expectantly.

“Set them on the ground, we need to clear a space,” he sighs, turning around to survey the best place to perform the ritual.

Castiel jumps at the sound of the items clattering loudly to the ground. He turns on his heel to find Jess with empty arms, a timid expression and the array of items rolling about around her.

“I said set them on the ground, not drop them where you stand!”

“I panicked!” she cries.

“Okay, okay. Just help me move this table.”

Jess takes one side of the large wooden dining table and he grabs the other. Together they heave the heavy table into the corner of the room to give enough room on the dark hardwood floor to draw the circle. Castiel grabs the chalk off the ground where Jess dropped it and draws the large circle. It’s a little more elliptical than Castiel would like it to be but circles were never his strong suit.

He picks up the compass and holds it out as steady as he can, finding North easily and drawing a quick mark with the chalk on what he’s now deemed the top of the circle. He begins his symbols from there.

“This spell isn’t going to last forever, Jess. You know that, right?” he says sternly, remaining focused on the task at hand.

“I know, Cas. I just need it to last long enough so that the damn thing dies when I’m not here.”

He rolls his eyes at her complete lack of morality. There’s a good reason fourteen year olds can’t use magic outside of school and this is definitely one of them. Not every kid has an older brother who’s willing to bring rabbits back from the dead for them.

“You just don’t want to kill Sam’s rabbit because you have a crush on him,” he teases and gets a totally undeserved smack in the arm for it.

“Yeah, and I’m sure Dean’s definitely gonna ask you to the Harvest Dance after you helped kill his little brother’s rabbit.”

“Literally none of this is my fault!” Cas counters, ignoring the blush that he knows rises up in his cheeks. “And Dean Winchester is not going to ask me to the Harvest Dance, regardless of whether you killed his brother’s pet rabbit. That’s a wildly impossible and inappropriate claim to make. Now get the stupid rabbit and put him in the centre of the circle.”

Jess’s face falls from an amused smirk to an expression of pure terror.

“I don’t wanna touch it.” Her face scrunches up with disgust and glances briefly to the dead rabbit still in its large metal cage. “Can you do it?”

Castiel lets out an exasperated sigh he knows sounds pathetic.

This is officially the worst morning in the history of mornings.

As he stands up and lifts the small hatch in the top of the rabbit cage, he sends a prayer to the Absent Gods for forgiveness over what he’s about to do.

The rabbit is a dead weight in his hands - literally - and he tries not to notice the unnatural stillness and lack of warmth emanating from the creature. Instead, he focuses on finding it’s life essence, or in this case the absence of it. It hasn’t disappeared too far from the corporeal realm yet, meaning that the creature probably died very recently. _Good_ , he thinks, _this will be easier to do then_.

Setting it into the middle of the circle he feels magic snap in the air around him. Even Jess senses it and her eyes widen and meet his, handing him the white candle without further prompting.

Castiel’s eyes flutter closed and he taps into the tangible force he can feel surrounding the room. He breathes deeply, just like they always say in school, and snaps his fingers with a crack. He peeks his eyes open to find a small yellow flame held between his thumb and forefinger and smiles appreciatively. At least the ungodly early hour of the morning hasn’t affected his ability to do magic in the slightest.

He brings the flame down to the light the candle and snaps it away just as easily as he called it to him.

“Does it hurt to do that?” Jess asks quietly, staring at his fingers where the bright flame just was.

“No,” he says reassuringly. “Magic done the right way should never hurt. Now, please…” he motions to the other side of the circle for Jess to take a seat. When she’s settled, he takes her hands in his and breathes deep again, allowing the elements of the early to swell into his lungs, filling him with their power.

Then he begins to recite from memory.

_“Ad manes invocare et ego resuscitabo-”_

A clamouring at the front door rouses him from his very brief trance and he looks straight up at the large wooden door of the Winchester home. A second too late he feels the familiar click in the centre of his soul that indicates his proximity to a single person.

The door pushes open to reveal Dean Winchester, holding his house keys and wearing an expression of pure confusion as his three family members trail in behind him.

For a moment Castiel wishes he was as dead as Sam Winchester’s rabbit.

~

A half an hour later finds him sitting at the Winchester’s dining room table, eating waffles and listening to Sam tell a story from their vacation.

After Jess had burst into a teary explanation about what happened, Sam gave her a quick hug and assured her that the rabbit was ‘gettin’ old anyways, and it probably wasn’t your fault’. Jess, Sam and Mr. Winchester had taken the poor rabbit outside to bury it in the yard. Meanwhile Dean, Mrs. Winchester and himself cleaned the sigils off the floor and pushed the table back to it’s original spot, Castiel apologizing profusely the entire time.

Dean, blessedly, thought the entire thing was hilarious and Mary Winchester, because she is a saint, offered to make them breakfast.

“So then I figured, why not?! I’m sure I can find some use for three jars full of snake fangs. And that’s the short story of why I was almost arrested in Ireland.” Sam says, finally finishing his story. Dean chokes on his waffles.

“Dude, _nothing_ about that story was short,” Dean chides and Castiel silently agrees with him.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Dean,” John Winchester says sternly, prompting Dean to look sheepishly at his mother, who gives him a kind smile.

Castiel looks away quickly, embarrassed at how much he and Jess are clearly intruding on precious family time. He turns to Jess to signal that they should leave the Winchesters in peace but apparently she has other plans.

“Well it sounds like you guys had so much fun, and I totally hate hate to bring the vibe down-” _So don’t_ , Castiel thinks, “-but Sam you missed some really important lessons in Runes class.”

Sam gets the chance to look concerned for all of two seconds until Jess throws on a brilliant smile. “But don’t worry, I made sure to take extra great notes for you.” And _Gods_ that girl is good at getting what she wants.

“What would I do without you, Jess?” Sam replies with a smile equally as bright.

“Ohhh… crash and burn?” she teases.

Dean suppresses a snort into his coffee, glancing above the rim of the mug to meet Castiel’s eyes knowingly. They share an exasperated look over the mutual ridiculousness of their little siblings flirting.

“Dean, I think Cas picked up some of your notes too,” Jess mentions smugly, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

“Awww, Cas. What would I do without you?” Dean says, mocking Sam’s tone perfectly and garnering a laugh from everyone at the table. “Actually, would you mind if I came over and grabbed those now? I wanna take a look at ‘em before school tomorrow.”

Mary is the next person at the table to crush his dreams.

“Dean, it’s impolite to invite yourself over. And you and your brother have to clear the table and do the dishes anyways.”

The Winchester boys protest loudly to the mother for a few moments before Jess steps in to save the day.

“Mrs. Winchester, I’ll gladly help clean up after breakfast. It’s the least I can do after... what happened,” she adds sadly to the end, giving Mary a look of pure remorse - one that Cas knows is all an act so that she’ll get to hang out with Sam for a while longer. Not that he’s complaining if it means taking Dean Winchester back to his bedroom for at least an hour.

“Well alright, Jess. If it would make you feel better,” Mary says, her voice warm with sympathy. “Dean honey, you’re off the hook but Sam - help Jess.”

“Okay!” Sam exclaims with way too much enthusiasm.

“No magic, Sam. You’ll do it all by hand,” Mary adds strictly.

“Okay,” Sam agrees, less enthusiastically.

Castiel leaves the Winchester’s home at quarter to nine with Dean in tow and safe with the knowledge that his little sister is in good hands.

They walk slowly down the front path and out the front gate, Dean pulling it shut behind him as they set off at a leisurely pace. They’re in no rush to be anywhere. It’s Sunday.

They travel with a comfortable silence around them. Cas has always liked that Dean respected his quiet awkwardness and never pushes him to make small talk. He’s always been so grateful to have Dean as a friend; he’s a good man.

Ms. Marnie, the ghost that lives a couple doors down from the Winchester’s, is outside watering her dead plants as they walk by. Dean and Cas wave to her kindly. She gives them a dark frown. Castiel feels the familiar sharp chill walking past her house and pulls his thin robe around him a little tighter, lamenting that he didn’t grab something warmer on his rush out the door. Dean seems to notice the same thing and tugs on the velvet edge of the robe.

“You’re always wearing this thing, man. You’ve gotta get a warmer robe, it’s two weeks ‘till Harvest,” he nags with honest concern.

“I like this one.” Cas shrugs looking down at himself. His shoes were picked up at a yard sale, his black corduroys were given to him from one of the older boys at the orphanage, and his navy button up was purchased at the second-hand shop at the corner of Main and Blackwood. The robe, however, he bought a couple years back with the little money he earned working at the apothecary’s. It’s the only thing he owns that’s ever been solely his.

“It doesn’t have a hood though. Hoods are the best part.” Dean says, pulling the hood on his own forest green robe up over his head, his pretty features thrown into shadow behind it. He raises his hands out to Castiel and wiggles his fingers ominously. “Ooooo. Do I look scaaaaryyyyyy…?”

A laugh bubbles out of Castiel’s chest and he swats Dean’s hands away. Dean flips the hood back down, grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, but yours has pockets, doesn’t it!” Dean exclaims happily as though he’s discovered the secrets of the universe. Castiel’s heart leaps in his chest when Dean slides his hand into the left pocket of Cas’s robe, brushing softly down his hip. The pull on his robe tugs him closer into Dean’s space and knocks him a little off-balance so he grabs ahold of Dean’s right arm to keep himself steady.

“You’re such a clutz, Cas,” Dean teases softly, looking down at him with a sweet smile. Cas rolls his eyes at the jest and secures his hand tighter around Dean’s bicep and they continue their languid walk down the quiet street.

They do this sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. Just casual, reassuring touches that say a whole spectrum of things.

This one says _I forgive you_.

Castiel apologizes anyways.

“I’m sorry about the… necromancy in your dining room, by the way,” he mumbles sheepishly and it makes Dean laughs loudly enough to grant them a dirty look from the mail man, his pointed vampirish teeth snarling at them. It just makes Dean laugh harder.

“Cas, our trip would not have been perfect if I hadn’t come home to find you performing dark magic on our dining room floor,” he says reassuringly. “Out of curiosity, were you hoping to actually bring the rabbit back to life, or just look at it’s ghostly spirit wiggle it’s nose for a little longer?”

“Oh, he was coming back. For sure.” Cas rolls his eyes. “Jess had this whole plan about making sure that the rabbit would stay alive long enough for her not to take the blame for it’s death. It was all very well conceived until you got home and ruined it all.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry we interrupted your illegal black magic dealings with my brother’s rabbit.”

“Hey!” Cas pokes him in the side. “Necromancy isn’t illegal. It’s just frowned upon.”

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean sighs warmly.

When they finally reach the small orphanage Castiel calls home, it’s not an easy matter of sneaking through the front door and up the creaking steps but they manage.

Arriving in Castiel’s tiny bedroom they breathe a little easier. It’s more of a large closet than a bedroom, but Castiel can’t really complain. He’s the only one in the house who has a room to himself; reward for being the oldest and living here the longest (if you can call that a reward). The walls are a clean pale blue colour that stands out as a stark contrast to the dark wood bed, dresser and desk, the only three pieces in the room.

Castiel rummages through the small desk in his corner of the room as Dean makes himself comfortable on the bed.

“Gods, I’m so tired,” he says yawning and nuzzling into the singular pillow at the head of Castiel’s small twin bed. The sight brings a kind of warmth to his heart that only Dean has a way doing. Dean toes his shoes off and shuffles onto his side to better look at Castiel. “The trip was so fun though.”

“I’m glad you all had a good time,” Cas says honestly.

“We should go somewhere,” Dean says softly, letting his eyes flutter closed.

Cas snorts at his bluntness. “We go places all the time. We went to that illusionist show you love two weeks ago, we skip class all the time and go to that cafe on 3rd Street, tonight we’re going to Charlie’s-”

“I meant like a trip, Cas,” Dean interjects, blinking his eyes open with a searching look.

“Well you should have been more specific, Dean.” Castiel ignores the look Dean is giving him by digging deeper into his desk drawer for his school notes.

“C’mon man, why’re you being difficult about this?” he pleads.

“You know why I’m being difficult, Dean,” he snaps back.

“No, actually I don’t. Maybe you could enlighten me.”

Castiel stops his search and slams his desk drawer shut with a bang, rounding on Dean’s taunting expression.

“For starters, how were you planning on getting to our destination, wherever it may be?” He doesn’t give Dean a chance to answer the obviously rhetorical question. “Transport runes, yes? I mean that’s how everyone else does it, right?” This time he leaves an opening for Dean to speak and he does so cautiously.

“Yeah, I guess that’s the easiest way, y’know,” he agrees.

“And were you planning on taking another week off school to do this trip, or waiting until summer break?”

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean sees where this is going. He sits up in the bed and an expression of pure remorse washes over his features.

“I’m s-”

“Answer the question, Dean,” Cas bites a little harsher than necessary.

“Summer break! Okay, summer break. I thought we could… take a trip after school was over, but I wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry.”

They lock eyes for a few moments, each one challenging the other to say something to make this conversation even worse. People murmur that it’s strange that they do this: just stare at each other and pass a thousand words between their eyes.

Those people have probably never experienced a soul bond. Incomplete or not.

Their soul bond is many things. It’s that feeling of puzzle pieces clicking together when him and Dean get close enough together. It’s the way Castiel knows what each separate touch means without words. And it’s the reason he knows that Dean was not trying to antagonize him out of malice, he simply forgot.

The soul bond doesn’t answer how Dean could’ve possibly forgotten that Castiel won’t be allowed to use magic once he reaches the age of eighteen.

“Y’know we can still do things, even when you’re eighteen. Like hang out and shit, I mean,” he quickly adds and it does nothing to quell the hurt rising in his heart.

“But not other things,” Castiel points out, keeping his voice as steady as he can. Dean snorts and raises his eyebrows.

“We don’t do ‘other things’ now anyways. And that’s your choice, Cas. Don’t put that on me.” He says it sternly, but not harshly. As though he needs Castiel to hear it, but he knows how much this is hurting both of them. As he always does, Castiel simply shakes his head.

“We can’t, Dean. I won’t do that to you.”

Dean accepts it, as he always does, with resigned sadness.

“Yeah I know Cas. Just figured I’d check in again.” He lays back down on the small mattress and looks at Castiel expectantly. “Notes?”

“Right, yes.”

Achieving some sort of truce between them, Castiel turns back to his search for his notes. He stupidly finds them sitting under the small cauldron on top of his desk.

“Here,” he says softly, handing the papers to Dean who takes them with a small smile. “They’re organized by day of the week and then alphabetically by class.”

“Of course they are.” Dean smiles down at them more fondly than anyone should look at school notes. “Can I stay here and copy ‘em down for a while?”

Castiel nods briskly and passes Dean a couple sheets of blank paper and leaves to it, finding his own piece of homework to work on for a while. They work away in silence until it becomes less stagnant and more companionable, their earlier squabble forgotten.

Twenty minutes in Castiel moves to sit beside Dean on his bed upon his continued insistence that ‘there’s no way that chair is comfortable’. They slip into a comfortable routine for a couple hours. With Dean sitting against the headboard and Castiel leaning with his back to Dean’s chest, Cas can both read comfortably and help Dean make out his tiny scrawling hand writing as he copies the notes.

The book holds no interest for him, and Cas finds himself thinking of the first time the soul bond between him and his best friend was acknowledged.It was almost three years ago, on a day absolutely nothing like today. He was fourteen, and his opinion of Dean was less than favourable, to say the least.

They were at school working late on a group project, paired together by a teacher for the assignment against their will. His relationship with Dean had been nothing but antagonistic, and in the middle of a (what even Cas can admit was nasty) rant about Dean’s lack of work ethic, Dean interrupted him to very forcefully demand, “why the hell do you even care?”

Before he could articulate a very good response to why he cared exactly, he was overwhelmed with an unknown presence forcing itself into his mind and latching itself there. He clutched his head in pain but it was over in a second. But even after the pain dissipated, he was left with a string of thoughts that were not his own running through his mind, and a multitude of feelings clouding his heart, that could not have belonged to him.

It wasn’t until he looked up at Dean to find an almost identical expression of pain and confusion that he realized what it was.

Castiel did the first thing he thought of. He ran away. Didn’t get very far, of course. About a block away from the school the bond snapped, the freshly formed pieces of soul snapped back to their owners. It hurt twice as much ripping away as it did turning on, and he collapsed on the side of the road from the pain. In a moment of true vulnerability, and inability to deal with the burden just placed on him, Castiel began to cry. 

Dean found him five minutes later crumpled on the sidewalk, his head between his knees. In a surprisingly display of compassion, Dean urged him onto a nearby park bench and sat with him for hours. For a long time Dean just talked. Flipping from subject to subject; from school to hobbies to family, whatever his stream of consciousness offered up next.

Finally he found the strength to speak. “I’m an orphan,” Castiel whispered with little preamble. Dean nodded, understanding the greater implication.

“You don’t have a Guardian,” Dean stated more than he asked. Castiel nodded, holding back another flow of tears. “Who knows?”

“One of my sisters, Jess, and the director of the orphanage. And now you.”

“Are you gonna to tell them about us? About… this.”

Their eyes met across the park bench, silently asking a different question.

_Is there going to be a ‘this’?_

“I’m not going to tell anyone about this.”

Dean looked like he was going to fight it, but a moment later he gave a curt nod. They shook on it and parted ways for the day.

Over time, what was once barely reserved antagonism, turned quickly to a feeling of mutual respect for each other. Dean’s friends took to Castiel warmly and soon it was no exaggeration to call themselves best friends. If any of their other friends noticed the unorthodox, but loving relationship they had with each other, that was separate from anything they had with other people, they didn’t mention it.

As time went on, the soul bond began to hurt less, but grew in strength. It was something learned to deal with, and even if they never admitted it, began to rely on. But the promise they made that first day never faltered. They were not in a relationship. They refused to allow the ever-independently developing soul bond dictate the nature of their companionship. As Castiel always reminded Dean; the bond could never be fulfilled completely without breaking sacred magical laws.

A yawn rips Castiel from his thoughts and he lifts a hand to cover his mouth. The rude awakening this morning left him feeling worn out and unrested. The fact that he was going to perform a serious incantation on minimal sleep is appalling. He yawns several more times before Dean gives in and sets down his notes.

“Alright, c’mere Mr. Comatose,” he teases softly, pulling Castiel closer to his body and hooking his chin over his head.

“‘m not comatose…” Castiel mumbles dreamily.

“Give it two minutes,” Dean whispers soothingly, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s forehead and sliding a hand into his thick hair. Cas settles into the comforting warmth of Dean’s hold around him and falls asleep.

~

When Cas comes to, he finds himself flipped on his side with Dean snoring softly behind him. His shoes are off and there’s a pillow under his head and he’s far too comfortable for it to be unintentional so he sends a sweet prayer of thanks through the soul bond and it thrums with contentment.

As much as he would love to bask in this peace for the rest of the day, he does have other things to do, as he’s sure Dean does as well. He turns carefully in Dean’s arms, reveling in the sight of his soft features, relaxed from sleep. Cas so rarely gets to see him like this. Partly because they are seldom so tactile with each other, but also because when they do fall asleep together, Dean always seems to wake up first.

He takes this rare, precious time to gently brush his thumb across Dean’s full, parted lips. His warm breath puffing against the pad of Castiel’s thumb. Cas trails his fingers up and over Dean’s freckled cheekbones, just grazing the bottom of his long eyelashes. Cas sucks in a breath as Dean’s eyelids flutter open, his bright green eyes looking down at him fondly.

“Y’r such a creeper, Cas,” he mumbles sweetly, pulling Castiel’s hand off his cheek and curling their fingers together.

“But I’m your favourite creeper.” Dean laughs warmly at that but agrees with a nod and a shrug. Dean pulls away from him and sits up in bed, stretching his arms above his head and popping all his tight joints.

“We slept for like two hours dude,” Dean groans, looking at the clock on Cas’s bedside table. “My mom’s probably freakin’ out about where I am. I better get goin’.”

Castiel thinks Mary Winchester knows exactly where her eldest son spends most of his time but he simply hums in agreement.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” Cas asks hopefully, wrapping the blankets around himself more, chasing the heat that Dean left behind. Dean looks down at him with one eyebrow crooked.

“Damn, you let me sleep over _and_ offer to make me food? Best one night stand ever,” he teases, laughing mischievously as he reaches his hands down to Castiel’s sides, prodding him right where he knows he’s ticklish.

“Deeaaaan, nnooooo” Cas laughs breathlessly, grabbing at Dean’s hands in a pathetic attempt to get him to stop tickling him. Dean relents in favor of sliding his hands up Castiel’s chest and over his collarbones. Cas feels Dean’s touch go through him like an electrical current, complete with the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and small goose bumps appearing everywhere Dean’s hands trace.

Castiel’s heart stutters in his chest when Dean leans down until their noses are almost brushing and for one perfect moment he think Dean’s going to kiss him. He does, in a manner of sorts, but it’s only a soft press of lips to his hairline.

Dean leaves with a smile and a promise to see him again later that day at Charlie’s party. Cas knows the exact moment Dean leaves the building because their soul bond snaps in two, flying back to its original owners and filling them both with an angry, prickly sensation.

Cas rolls his eyes at the idiocy of it all. The storybooks and love poems all talk about how amazing and fulfilling soul bonds are but Castiel disagrees.

He thinks it’s more like a parasite. An unwanted invader that’s latched itself to his very being, sucking all his love and energy for itself and leaving him a barren shell when it fades.

Dean is an addiction he can’t quit, and the soul bond won’t let him. It’s his worst trigger, and biggest enabler.

A knock at the door pulls him from his sour thoughts. It’s Jess.

“Hey Cassy.” He sits up in bed to greet her and returns her smile warmly.

“Are you just getting back now?” he asks. She nods happily. “How long does it take to do the dishes?!”

Jess scoffs at that and makes her way into his small bedroom to flop down on his bed. “We hung out after we did the dishes, obviously.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. We practically ruined the Winchester’s morning and then you went and imposed yourself in their home. That’s so disrespectful, Jess.”

“Oh my Gods, Cassy. Lighten up, would ya? The Winchester’s love us,” she assures. "Also Naomi is looking for you."

He groans. That can only mean bad things.

"Great. Wonder what that's about?" he muses, knowing exactly what its about. Jess looks at him remorsefully.

"Maybe it'll be different this time. You could get approved, you never know." she gives him a sympathetic smile. He can always count on Jess being perpetually optimistic. "Fingers crossed at least?"

"Fingers crossed," he appeases her.

They leave the room together, making their way down the rickety stairs into the front lobby. The doorway off to the right opens up into a large, plain living room. The door on the left leads to the dining room and through that, the kitchen. The staircase to the bedrooms goes up the middle.

Cas ducks his head into the living room first but sees no sign of Naomi, just a couple of the younger boys playing a game. The dining room holds more promising results and he finds the director of the orphanage sitting at the large wooden table. She's in her signature grey suit and thin spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. There are papers and files spread out all around her and she’s making small marks with a sharp pencil on a form. He knocks on the doorframe and she looks up over the rim of her glasses.

"Hello Castiel," she clips in her cool monotone voice. It used to scare him as a child but now he just finds it patronizing. "Please sit, I have some mail for you."

Cas pulls at his shirt awkwardly. He always feels underdressed around Naomi. He takes a seat across the table from her.

"This is from Ms. Magpie – I assume she wants another séance with her old cat again - this one is from school – most likely a report card - and this one is from the Department of UnGuardianed Citizens.” She hands him the letters one at a time, dictating their senders with equal enthusiasm as one would read a dictionary.

“T-thank you,” he stutters, holding the last one with reverence and hope. He makes to get out of his chair but Naomi stops him.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asks, taking off her glasses. “This is what we have to talk about after all.”

He gulps worriedly but nods anyways. His fingers shake as he peels back the seal on the envelope, pulls the singular piece of paper out, and unfolds the form. It’s a form he recognizes knows almost every word of off by heart. At the top is a little box he fills out, stating his name, birth year, and place of residence. The bottom is where the Department declares whether they have approved or declined his request for a Guardian. He looks there now and finds, like he has the first thirty three times he’s gotten his letter back, his least favourite word in the world.

He swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring the way his heart stutters and eyes well up. He should be so used to this by now and yet it catches him off guard every time.

“They, umm,” he coughs once to clear his throat and steady his wavering voice “they declined me again.”

Naomi gives him a curt nod and a falsely sympathetic smile. “Well, better luck next time. You only have one more chance, correct?”

He moves his head in what is just barely a nod, disappointment settling in his gut. She begins to pack up her papers and folds away her glasses.

“I have some business to attend to out of state so I wont be back until the Harvest. Have a nice day, Castiel.”

Naomi scrapes her chair back, shoving the last of the papers in her bag, and begins to make her way out.

“Naomi, wait.” Castiel turns in his chair to find her stopped in the doorway from the dining room to the lobby, her back to him. “If you could maybe sign on as my sponsor, I might have a better chance next time,” he pleads and she turns to give him a polite smile.

“Castiel, we have been over this many times. I cannot be your sponsor. You are a ward of the state and since I am not the state I have no jurisdiction in that area.”

“Then couldn’t you sign it as a prospective Guardian?” he asks quietly. Naomi laughs as that as though it’s the best joke she’s heard all week.

“Castiel, I am the Director for over forty orphanages across the country. I cannot possibly be every one of those children’s Guardians, nor could I give preferential treatment to one child,” she says with a note of finality. “I want to remind you that many people make do without Guardians in this world. There are many fields you can go into that do not involve performing magic. Who knows, one day you might be a minister and run an orphanage of your own.”

Naomi bids him good day and leaves him with his thoughts at the dining table.

He turns back to his form and it’s pathetic emptiness. Castiel does not have even one of the three markers you need to even be considered for Guardianship. The ‘Sponsor’ and ‘Prospective Guardian’ box are both empty. He doesn’t even have a last name.

He’s just Castiel. Nameless and abandoned in a world that seems to be against him at every turn.

The forms take months to be processed. No matter how quickly he seems to print and send them, it’s always taken at least four months to get a response. He thinks they must be pretty backed up in requests, but all it means for him now is that by March of next year, it’ll be too late to fill out anymore.

March 17th is his eighteenth birthday. The universal law of the land is that anyone above the age of eighteen must have a registered Guardian to practice magic.

As the legend goes, the Absent Gods - before they were Absent, of course - were the original Guardians of all life on earth but when they left, magic had no way of being regulated. Thousands of years ago, the elders who ruled the lands of the Earth declared that the only way to maintain the sanctity of magic was to create artificial Guardianship where those who had already been blessed by the Gods to practice magic, continued that blessing down for generations to come. That way each person could be accounted for and magic would remain sacred and accessible.

For people like Castiel it means that he may go UnGuardianed forever.

It’s not the first time he’s asked Naomi for help, and every time it’s the exact same answer. That she can’t give preferential treatment to one child, which he thinks is absurd for a number of reasons.

Firstly, several children who live in orphanages technically have Guardians. Like Jess, for example. Her parents made sure all the arrangements were in order when she was a baby. They even left her a note and everything, saying that although they love her very much, they were very young and couldn’t take care of her properly. She hopes to reunite with them one day. She took their last name and everything: Jessica Moore.

Castiel is almost a special case. No one who works at the orphanage now even remembers when he was brought in. He must have been extremely young, probably dropped on the doorstep only as a small bundle of blankets because not even he can remember it.

Whoever his parents were, they left no note and no arrangements for his future. He doesn’t know if they ever want to see him, or if they think about him sometimes. He doesn’t even know if they’re alive.

He scoffs at Naomi’s suggestion that he should join the ministry. The ministry is compiled of people who denounce all use of magic to serve the Absent Gods. It is seen as the most selfless action one can make and is said to guarantee you a place amongst the Gods themselves in the afterlife for your struggle.

They run the orphanage but in all the years Castiel has lived here, they never stay for more than a year or two each before they’re rotated out. They have an adventurous life for certain, always being moved around from place to place, helping where they’re needed. It must be amazing for them but for the children at the orphanage, it created a lack of permanency.

Every time one left and a new one arrived, they never knew what rules would change or how severe punishments would be. He’s had some great caretakers over the years, as well as some truly awful ones.

In his ninth year a man named Lucifer ran the place and treated all of the children like they were foul scum of the Earth. Castiel still bears the scars of Lucifer’s stay in the white lines that crisscross his back, their traces stretched out over his skin as it grew leaving wave-like ripples across his flesh. He knows a number of the other children bear them as well, but none that still remain at the orphanage.

When he was fourteen, a kind woman named Missouri was placed as head minister. Castiel remembers that year fondly for another reason as well. It was the year he met Dean. The lines of their relationship may be clouded and blurry now, but it does not detract from his memories of a time when his best friend brought only uncomplicated joy to his life.

Anna, a young redheaded minister, works here now. She’s lovely (as are her pumpkin cakes) and is more like an older sister than anything else.

Naomi is the only one that Castiel can remember from the beginning. But she, worst of all, has remained completely unhelpful in the search for his lineage, or for a solution to his Guardian problem.

He crumples the form into a tight ball in his hand, the rough edges of the paper pushing painfully into his palm. He swallows down the angry cry that threatens to bubble up. The chef is in the kitchen and there are children playing in the living room. This is not the place to make a scene. He takes his anger to his room.

Castiel holds his breath as he pounds up the stairs to his bedroom, the small piece of space he can call his own and the only safe place to unleash his anger. He slams the door shut behind him and his mirror has the unfortunate fact of being the first thing he sees when he walks in.

His reflection cracks into a dozen pieces as his fist collides hard with the mirror, shattering under his skin and cutting deep into his flesh.

Castiel stumbles back, breathing for the first time in minutes. His eyes focus as oxygen floods back to his brain and Castiel realizes what he’s done.

The knuckles on his right hand are split open and bleeding, the evidence of it splashed across the broken mirror. He sucks in a breath as he uncurls his aching hand still grasped around the now scrunched form. It too has drops of blood sinking into the crinkles of the paper, oozing thickly over the cruel words.

He stumbles backwards against his door and leans his forehead against the piece of wood that separates him from the rest of the world.

His eyes fall shut as his hands reach for the unfinished oak door, fingertips brushing over the dark spirals and crevasses that mark the wood. They tried to paint the door a number of years back, during the only ‘renovation’ period the orphanage has ever gone through, but he protested for this reason exactly.

Wood is… it’s calming. Castiel finds incredible peace in being able to touch the lifelines of the earth; the roots of something far older than he. He thinks he would like to live in a forest, surrounded by trees teeming with life to give him strength. However, there is something equally strengthening about being able to feel the death of trees as well. To read the tale of its bloody history in the fine lines that run through his bedroom door. To feel its loss as it was ripped from the Earth and fashioned into something new.

They have that in common. Loss. In the past, as well as the future. For he too will rot away and be forgotten.

Castiel crumples to the ground, unable to stand on his own two feet from mental exhaustion. The crumpled form drops from his hand as he presses his side into the door, letting loose all of his muscles and slumping into the hard panel.

He does not stop the silent tears that flow from his weary eyes. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, a victim to defeat, before someone comes knocking on his door.

His eyes open for the first time in what must be hours and blinks hard against the cracked seal that pulls them together.

Castiel doesn’t actually come down to the kitchen to eat, Jess brings it up to him without even being told. He supposes it was pretty obvious what the response from the Guardianship Department was when he didn’t come to her room cheering. She’s also developed that skill to know when he’s not in the mood to talk and thankfully doesn’t press him for details.

She does, however, protest when he makes to leave for Charlie’s party.

“I wan ‘ta go!” she says around a bread roll.

“No Jess. I want to go get drunk with my friends and forget this day ever happened and I can’t do that if I have to look out for you the whole time,” he counters, pulling on his tan robe.

“You won’t have to look after me, I promise,” she pleads. He raises an eyebrow, doubting her statement heavily. “Fine, Cassy. I’ll stay here and be bored and babysit the gross three year olds.”

“Good, you have fun with that,” he calls from the doorway and leaves her to stew in frustration.

He’s in a bad mood on his way to Charlie’s. He didn’t exactly expect to be approved, but every time he sends in an application, there’s always that small glimmer of hope that settles in his chest. Every time, without fail, that little ball of hope turns into bitter resentment and sits like a dark pit in the centre of his heart.

Cas is so consumed with his own thoughts he doesn’t even see the man walking towards him until it’s too late and crashes right into his hard chest, falling backwards and only just stopping himself from crashing to the ground.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you coming. Are you alright?” he says in a clipped tone that he hopes sounds somewhat sincere.

“It’s no trouble, kid.” Castiel frowns at that. The man is maybe ten years older than him at the most; he has no right to deem Castiel a child. “You don’t seem too happy about something.”

“I just got some bad news recently, is all.” Cas says vaguely, putting up his guard. He doesn’t remember seeing this man around town at all and his strange accent deems him an outsider. “Have a nice day, sorry about running into you.”

Castiel gives him a curt nod and begins to walk briskly away but the man throws out a hand to Castiel’s chest, stopping him from moving. Castiel feels his heart rate spike rapidly.

“Please don’t touch me,” he says assertively, keeping the fear out of his voice.

“Don’t be scared, Castiel. I’m not here to hurt you.”

 _Yeah, okay …_ “How do you know my name?” Castiel demands, done with all pretenses. “Who are you, what do you want?”

“I’m no one of consequence,” the man says, reminding Castiel of a villainous character from one of Dean’s favourite mystery novels. Castiel has no time for them, but he enjoys Dean’s voice and will often listen to him read from them. “But you are.”

Castiel narrows his eyes speculatively.

“I don’t know what you think I am, or what you want with me, but I have no interest in being apart of it. Now am I free to go, or do you wish to kidnap me?”

That gets a slight chuckle out of the man but his laughter does not calm Castiel in the slightest.

“Is there nothing I could offer to make you listen to me?” the man asks.

“No, there is nothing. Now please be on your way, or I will contact the authorities.” The man says nothing for a few moments but simply looks at Castiel curiously. Cas shakes his head, thoroughly done with this strange conversation, and begins to walk away. The man thankfully does not stop him this time, but Castiel only makes it a couple paces before he calls to him.

“What about a Guardian?”

Castiel heart stops in his chest, his feet along with it. He swivels slowly on the spot to look back at the strange man. He has a small smile on his face and Castiel hates him even more.

“How do you know I don’t have a Guardian?” he hisses under his breath, still in disbelief at the man’s gall.

“I know a lot of things about you, Castiel.” the man takes a few steps forward, advancing menacingly on Cas. “I know you live in an orphanage and are therefore a ward of the state, without a Guardian. I know you work for an apothecary, even though you tested high on your aptitude test for Necromancy. Very curious, indeed.” He gets right up close to Castiel’s face, his beady eyes alight with triumph. Castiel thinks he looks like a very ugly toad. “And I know about that incomplete soul bond…”

There is no power he could call on from the earth, the heavenly realm, or the nine levels of hell that would give him the strength to mask the fear he feels in this moment.

His soul bond with Dean is Castiel’s best-kept secret.

Naomi does not know. No other children in the orphanage know, not even Jess. Dean’s family has no clue, as Dean would never breathe a word of it to them either, despite the close relationship he has with his mother and brother. They decided a long time about that it should be their knowledge alone.

Not to avoid looks of shame from those who would not understand why Dean would create a soul-bond with an UnGuardianed (as if it was done by choice), but to avoid the looks of pity from their friends and loved ones. Unlike Mary and John Winchester’s bond, or the one obviously forming between Jess and Sam, their bond is doomed to be incomplete forever.

“There is no possible way you could know about that,” Castiel whispers shakily.

“And yet I do,” the man says smugly. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small crimson card. “If you ever want to do something about it, give me a call.”

He hands the card to Castiel who takes it numbly. The man shoots him a tight smile and turns sharply on his heel, walking briskly down the street. When he’s a good distance away, Cas looks down at the card.

It’s embossed only with a series of runes underneath a name. The runes must be the way to summon the man, but the name he does not recognize.

He pockets the card, knowing it’s a bad idea but unable to deny his curiosity. He’s shaken by the interaction with the man – Crowley – and what he knew about Castiel, but at the same time he can’t deny that Crowley may be the answer to all his problems.

Castiel continues his way to Charlie’s house, mulling over the strange man and his even stranger promises.

When he reaches her house his mind is a mess of unanswered questions and worried thoughts. Charlie, however, is her usual bubbly self and doesn’t let him stay sad for long.

“Cas!” she cries happily, pulling him into a quick welcoming hug that he returns energetically. Her bright orange hair gets caught in his mouth a little and her hat hits him in the eye. “Oh gosh, did I get ya in the eye?!” She pulls back laughing and slaps her hands onto his face, hurting him more than the original blow did.

“No, no it’s fine,” Castiel replies with a reassuring smile. Clearly they’ve pulled out the alcohol already. He notes that the hat that clobbered him over the head is one of those ‘witches’ hats because that kind of thing is ‘ironic’ these days.

“C’mon, c’mon in, everyone’s here,” she whispers, giggling like it’s some sort of secret and tugging him along by his sleeve.

To be honest, he’s thankful she’s a little drunk already. Charlie’s training to be an empath and she’s scarily good at knowing when something’s wrong with him. Luckily the alcohol has dulled her senses enough to not notice his sour mood.

He doesn’t have such luck with Dean, but then again, he’s always liked it that way. As he’s greeted with a loud ‘wooh!’ from the crowd, Dean and him fall into one of their thousand-word stares.

Although they usually keep their public interaction to a minimum, Dean beckons him over to the corner where he’s sitting with a couple friends, indicating that Charlie should join them as well. Charlie tugs him along through the crowd, still grasping his hand tightly until they reach their small friend circle.

“You’re laaaaaate, Cassy!” Donna hiccups, handing him a dark, unlabelled bottle. He figures it must be one of Benny’s home brews and takes a sip from it anyways, trusting that his friend wouldn’t put anything unsavoury in it. Charlie pushes him onto the plush carpeted floor and plops down beside him, practically in his lap. He shuffles over a bit so she has her own space to sit down, and that pushes him right up against Dean’s side, something which neither of them are too displeased about.

“I just got… held up with something, Donna.” He smiles unassumingly. She accepts it as an answer but Dean seems to see right through the façade as he slides one hand to the small of Castiel’s back. It’s a quiet, reassuring gesture that’s private enough for their friend’s not to notice and Castiel is immediately grateful for it.

The group deems him welcomed enough and they quickly go back to the previous conversation they were having, Benny filling in Castiel quickly.

“So I was just telling Dean that he’s been doing his Solar Protection potion wrong” he teases in his comforting southern drawl “and since you work for the apothecary an’ all, I thought you could help us sort out this little debate.”

Castiel thinks Benny is probably just as qualified as him to tell Dean off about that potion in particular, considering he’s a vampire and probably applies it in healthy doses at least once a day, but he complies to the request nonetheless, already sensing where this conversation is going.

“Is it that he thinks that you have to put the sage in before the salamander tail, because I’ve been telling him that was wrong since the day I met him and he still doesn’t believe me.”

The circle bursts into laughter at Cas’s words, Dean thankfully laughing along with them this time.

“I would argue but I think those are actually the first words you ever said to me,” Dean says with drunken honesty as Charlie and Donna coo at his words. Cas can’t help but glance at Dean with a small happy smile. “No but they are! It was Potions Chem 101, back in like fuckin’ _Grade 9_ , first week of class. You were my lab partner but you totally ignored me for the first couple days because I’m such a dumb loser.”

“Dean!” Castiel chastises. The real reason why he didn’t say anything for the first four days of knowing Dean was because he got so tongue tied every time he looked at his big green eyes and warm smile that he just decided he wasn’t going to say a thing. He was too beautiful and too perfect and so beyond anything Castiel could ever imagine to be.

That was until he noticed him butchering one of the easiest potions ever invented and decided that maybe he wasn’t so perfect after all.

“But the first real potion we ever made in that class was the freaking Solar Guard or whatever it is, and you took one look at mine and said in that ridiculous fuckin’ deadpan of yours, ‘watching you stir ingredients is like watching goblins count change’.”

That one even gets a laugh out of Cas because he remembers that conversation like it was yesterday and Dean does a perfect rendition of it. He does roll his eyes and chuff Dean over the head, just for good measure.

“So why do you still let him do it the wrong way, then? Or like… let him go outside, ever?” Charlie asks, her laughter replaced by honest curiosity. Cas looks back to Dean, unable to himself from blurting out the truth.

“I just love the side effects too much,” he grins ruefully. Dean gets the implication but their friends are a little slow on the up-take. “His freckles.”

Laughter rattles around their friend circle once again, this time joined by Dean’s embarrassed blush.

“Shaddap, alright alright. Can we talk about something else now?” Dean pleads, ducking his head and pulling at a loose thread on his shirt. Donna, being the good friend that she is, starts up a more neutral conversation. However, it’s a conversation he doesn’t partake in after Dean sees the makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around his hand.

“Cas, what’s this?” he whispers, too low for their friends to hear. Dean pulls his aching hand between two of his own, worry lines pull across his forehead.

“Cut it on some glass.”

Dean raises his eyebrow, catching Castiel in his half-lie. He blessedly doesn’t call him out on it but instead tightens his grip on Castiel’s hands very lightly and begins to mutter an incantation.

_“Per terram et aquam, aeris et in flamma, deorum enim subtracto ut exaudias voluntati, fontes de vita et lux, missa diei, et terram, invoco te in hoc loco, sana animam meam, corpus et animum.”_

Castiel feels the pain almost immediately start to leech out of the gash across his hand. He groans from the satisfaction and drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Just something to take the pain away a little,” Dean murmurs into his hair as he loosens his grip on Castiel’s hand but doesn’t let go.

Dean’s gift is another cruel juxtaposition the world has decided to throw at him. At fifteen students take an aptitude test to determine which area of magic their specialty lies. It came as no surprise to anyone that Dean tested high in Healing. Dean will be a doctor.

The hands that heal Castiel’s wounds now will be used only for good, to mend broken bones and soothe cuts and burns. Dean will be the face of hope for every crying child or injured soul. He will touch people’s lives in ways they will never be able to repay, not that he would ever ask.

It’s the antithesis of everything Castiel will ever be. His aptitude tests showed proficiency for the much darker art of Necromancy. It will be too late to save any of the people he will work with. Necromancers are on the front lines of death, pain, and unimaginable suffering. Not that any of that will matter. Come March, his lack of Guardianship will deny him even the more gruesome of jobs, regardless of his skill level.

He’s not sure what he’d prefer.

Dean’s soft rumbling laugh jolts him out of his dark thoughts. Castiel throws a big, fake smile on to at least pretend like he was paying attention to the conversation. Their small group of friends continue to talk and joke and drink a whole lot more than they should for another long while, all the time Dean’s hand never straying from Castiel’s. Eventually the warmth and camaraderie of their little group (not to mention the copious amounts of alcohol) makes him forget about his gloomy fate for a while and he starts to have a good time.

The highlight of the party is definitely when Dean’s friend Jo ironically begins a séance and Cas offers to _un_ ironically complete it for her. It turns into the most drunken, amateur communication with the dead he’s ever conducted. If he wasn’t so wasted he would have the decency to be ashamed of the fact that the only spirit he actually connected to was that of Charlie’s old cat that passed away a year ago.

He does at least feel bad for bringing back the memory of an animal that Charlie may have loved dearly, but she’s got a morbid sense of humor and laughs harder than all of them.

The fatigue hits him hard when he finally lets the spirit go. Dean hauls his tired body onto the sunken couch in the corner of the room, making a lame joke about trying to bring back two pets in one day. Their friends of course demand to know what the second pet was and it leads Dean to tell the story of Sam’s rabbit that morning.

Dean joins him on the couch after a while. Cas’s head ends up in his lap, his knees bent at an awkward angle, but they manage it. Dean brushes one strand of hair off Cas’s cheek and the next thing he knows he’s on the verge of sleep, Dean’s hand softly carding through his hair.

A number of people leave shortly after that and soon only him, Dean, Benny, Jo, and Donna are left. He’s glad for it too; he’s always disliked large parties. Soon Charlie turns the music down low enough so that they don’t have to scream over every note. Conversation quickly becomes more personal, and tangentially more serious. Everything goes downhill when Charlie brings up the Harvest Festival.

“So guess who got asked to the dance?” Charlie asks rhetorically because obviously it was her.

“Seriously! By who?!” Dean asks with shocked delight. “Was it Gilda?”

Cas peeps his eyes open just long enough to catch Charlie nodding her head vigorously, a cheerful smile growing on her face. He’s happy for her but still doesn’t have enough energy to clap and cheer with the rest of their friends. Donna doesn’t either, but that’s more out of ignorance than laziness.

“What dance are you talking about?” she asks timidly. Donna hates being reminded that she’s the ‘new kid’ in town and doesn’t understand all of the local traditions just yet. Benny fills her in kindly.

“She means the Harvest Dance. It’s a swanky ball the town holds every year to celebrate the end of the harvest. It happens on the last night of the festival.”

“That isn’t even the point, Benny, and you know it,” Jo says, more serious that Castiel is used to hearing her. “Are you guys, y’know, _bonded_?”

Dean’s hand stills in his hair and Cas can feel his muscles tense. He keeps his eyes firmly shut, either urging himself to go to sleep so he doesn’t have to hear this conversation or at least to feign sleep so that his friends don’t know he’s coherent for it.

“Well, I dunno guys. It’s hard to tell,” Charlie says cautiously. Cas internally scoffs at that and Dean voices his exact thoughts.

“If you are, you’d know Charlie. There ain’t really two ways about it.” Dean coughs. “Or, … so I’ve heard.”

“Okay, fine! Yes. Yeah, we have a soul bond,” she can barely keep the excitement out of her voice and it fills Castiel with jealous anguish that makes him want to throw up.

“Wow,” he hears Jo whisper.

“Aren’t you a bit young?” Donna questions skeptically.

“Well I mean it’s not completed yet, of course,” Charlie whispers.

“Maybe I’m dumb for not knowing this but what really is the difference?” Donna asks inoccently. Cas has never hated anyone more in his life and he needs to get out of this conversation right fucking now.

He sits up and makes to get off the couch but the alcohol hits him hard and his head spins. He might actually puke for real.

Dean is sound of mind enough to push him gently into a sitting position against the couch cushions and make a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. It unfortunately leaves Castiel stranded in the middle of a discussion he’d do anything not to be in.

“Well there isn’t a difference, really. It just creates a sort of permanency in the bond,” Charlie begins to explain. “The bond itself is a like a sentient piece of magic that clings to two people who the Gods believe should always be together.”

“It ain’t even necessarily a romantic thing,” Benny offers.

“But it usually _is_ ,” Jo says, rolling her eyes.

“You also don’t _have_ to complete it,” Charlie says calmly, but her eyes speak a different kind of language. They echo the kind of desperate agony at even contemplating that her soul bond would one day not be completed. It’s the same anguished look he’s seen in his own eyes a thousand times.

He finds the same look mirrored in Dean’s eyes now. He’s standing in the doorway from the living room to the kitchen, holding a full glass of water, staring into space with a haunted expression.

“What happens if you don’t complete it?” Donna asks curiously and Charlie sighs.

“Well that little piece of sentient soul starts to…” she pauses, looking for the right word. “Well, it starts to fight back. It wants to be fulfilled and complete and when you deny it of that, it revolts. It hurts. A lot, apparently. Like, excruciating levels of pain. Some people go mad from it. And then it fades.”

“Oh,” Donna says quietly, looking a little shaken. “Well that’s good that it stops at least.”

Benny shakes his head.

“Donna, when it stops, everything else stops with it,” Charlie says seriously. “Every sense, every emotion, anything you’ve ever felt just fades away until you’re an empty shell. Most people kill themselves before then. The ones who don’t they send to care centres, but they don’t last long there either. It’s the worst way to go.”

The circle is silent for a few tense moments. The kind of silence that’s so loud you can hear it’s scream down to your bones.

“Why would anyone ever choose to not complete it?” Donna asks in a horrified whisper.

“Some people don’t have a choice,” Charlie says. “Some people are forbidden from doing magic like that, or all magic for that matter.”

“Like who?”

“Like an orphan,” Castiel hears someone say.

He said that.

Dean finally meets his gaze; his emerald eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Castiel looks away almost immediately, unable to bear the sadness he finds in his expression, but his friends don’t offer him much hope either.

Donna still looks confused, but Jo and Charlie are wearing almost identical expressions of shock and understanding. Benny looks like he’s about to launch into a string of apologetic clichés and it’s so not was Castiel wants to hear right now.

“I’m sorry, I…” he stands up off the couch, ignoring the nausea that floods his stomach. “I need to leave. Thank you for having us over, Charlie. I’ll let myself out now.”

He practically bolts out of the room, not stopping to give a proper explanation to his friends, or to grab the glass of water from Dean.

Stepping outside the stuffy house into the cool night helps clear the nausea and headache anyways. He breathes in deeply, letting the crisp early October air fill his lungs completely before letting it out slowly. Then he begins the long trek home, setting off down the street.

He curses himself for slipping up so easily. Maybe if he hadn’t drank so much he wouldn’t have spoken up. He doesn’t like talking about his home life, not to anyone but Dean. Being UnGuardianed isn’t something that he’s ever willingly told people about before but he’s pretty sure his little outburst at the party made it obvious enough.

He doesn’t even get too far down Charlie’s block before he hears quick footsteps behind him.

“Cas, wait up!” It’s Dean. Castiel keeps walking. “C’mon man, you forgot your jacket.”

He slows his pace a little to let Dean to catch up, avoiding his eyesight when he does and wordlessly allowing Dean to tuck the robe over his shoulders. They walk step in step in silence for a while. Unfortunately, Dean seems to incensed to keep quiet the way he usually does when Castiel doesn’t want to talk.

“So I don’t know what happened back there, and I don’t know if you wanna talk about it-”

“I don’t.”

“- _but_ I think that we _need_ to talk!”

Castiel scoffs and shakes his head, refusing to respond to Dean’s wishes.

“Don’t concern yourself with things that don’t involve you, Dean,” Castiel says cooly. He knows it’s harsh, and not even really true, but he’s at his wits end. This day has gone from bad to worse and the last thing he wants to do is talk about his feelings.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a long while. Not until they’re approaching the rundown orphanage in which Castiel was raised. He frowns up at it, preparing for the clawing sadness he feels stepping into it every time but Dean stops him short with a hand to his arm.

“It _does_ involve me,” Dean says and Cas’s shoulders droop. He turns willingly in Dean’s hold to meet his hard gaze. “I know this is tough on you man, and I know it’s only gonna get worse but you can’t say that I’m not mixed up in this situation too because that ain't fair.”

“But I don’t want you to be mixed up in this, Dean,” Castiel pleads. “I don’t want you to get hurt and know that it’s my fault.”

“Gods, Cas it’s a bit late for that!” Dean grips his hair in frustration. “If you think I’m not already hurting then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Castiel balks at that. “What do you mean?! We agreed that it’s for the best if we don’t-”

“No, Cas. No we didn’t,” Dean interjects forcefully. “There was no agreement, there was only you saying how it was gonna be between us, and me goin’ along with it.”

“Dean, I’m so confused. I thought that this is what you wanted,” Cas stammers.

Dean shakes his head. Cas thinks it’s partly an answer, and partly out of disbelief.

“Then what do you want?” Cas asks brokenly.

“What do I want?” Dean’s expression turns from distress to forceful determination in the time it takes for Cas to realize that Dean Winchester, who prides himself on being selfless and loyal and so very good of heart, must have so many unspoken desires.

“I wanna take you to the Harvest Festival. I want to dance with you under the stars and I want to tell everyone how I feel about you. Just to rub it in their faces because I think you’re the most amazing person in the world and I don’t understand why everyone isn’t as in love with you as I am.”

“Dean…” Cas whispers desperately for him to stop, but only because his resolve breaking a little more with every word and every step Dean takes towards him.

“No, I do Cas. I love you. And I want you to let me tell you that everyday so that you never forget it, because I know you do sometimes.” Dean steps right into his personal space then, a boundary that he usually calls out Cas on pushing. “But you know what I really want?” His hands lift Castiel’s wrists to his shoulders, tugging him in even closer and trailing his fingers up the bend in his arm and down the slope of his back to rest like burning coals on his hips. “I wanna do this, just once.”

With that, Dean pulls him in the last two inches until they’re pressed together chest to toe and slots his lips over Castiel’s flawlessly.

If Dean’s hands are coals then his lips are fire. The perfect slide of them against his own sets his insides alight in a way that no magic has ever done. All the alchemists and apothecaries in the world could search their whole lives for a spark like this and would never find anything that comes close to Dean Winchester’s kiss.

And he hates it.

He hates that he knows what this is like now. He knows the feel of Dean’s hands resting on either side of his spine, pulling him in with the gentle strength he brings to everything he does. He knows the soft nibble of Dean’s teeth into his bottom lip and the desperate keening noises it pulls out of him. He knows that they make Dean hold him closer and bite down harder to bring more of them out.

He hates that he wants more. He wants Dean’s hands on his bare skin, tracing patterns over his soft flesh. He wants Dean’s lips to follow everywhere his hands go and leave claiming marks along his neck and down his chest.

He hates that he has to stop.

“Dean, _Dean_.” Cas pulls away an inch, gasping air back into his lungs quickly before Dean delves back into for another kiss. “No, we have to stop.”

He pushes away from Dean’s chest, breaking their hold on each other.

“I said stop,” Cas asserts again. Dean drops his hands and backs off.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” Dean babbles apologetically. Cas holds a hand up for him to stop.

“Don’t worry about it. Just… let’s just forget this ever happened,” Cas says regretfully, turning away from Dean’s forlorn expression. “Go home, Dean.”

There’s a beat of motionless silence between them before Dean seems to give in to the exhaustion and loses all will to fight back.

“G‘night, Cas,” he mumbles. Cas hears the slow drag of his feet along the pavement as Dean passes him. He stands outside until he hears it no longer but draws the line at watching the only thing he’s ever wanted walk away from him.

Then he waits five minutes more for his sadness to turn to fury and storms inside. Cas barrels his way through the front door and jumps the stairs up to his second floor bedroom two at a time, slamming the door to his small bedroom on the way in. He throws his robe onto his bed and kicks off his shoes viciously, uncaring as to where they land.

How could he do that? How dare Dean have the audacity to—

 _To what? To do what both of you have always wanted?_ says a small annoying voice in his head. He kicks his bed in anger and only succeeds in stubbing his toe. He hops on his other foot, grabbing his toes in pain and falls unbalanced onto his bed, swearing in pain.

Something flips him up and hits him in the eye. He curses louder and grabs at it blindly, scrunching the small piece of paper in his hand. He stops when he realizes what it is; the business card from that stranger.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the pain and sits up in bed, examining the tough card paper, not as crisp as it once was. There’s a giant fold along the middle from where he tucked it into his robe pocket as well as other small crinkles from scrunching it in his hand just now. The writing seems to be as bold as ever.

With everything else that happened tonight, he’d forgotten the strange encounter altogether. He thumbs over the embossed runes, thinking of Crowley’s words.

_“If you ever want to do something about it, give me a call.”_

Gods does he want to do something about it; something to quell the angry fire pumping through his veins. He’s so tired of being a useless pawn in his own destiny. Tired of pushing away everything he loves because one day it’s going to be taken from him.

With newfound determination, he leaps off the bed and goes straight to his bedside cupboard where he keeps supplies. Candles, bones, herbs and the like. He finds what he’s searching for squashed into the back right corner. His Grimoire. He tugs the ancient book out and manages to avoid knocking over any glass vials or candles and drops it heavily onto the floor.

Dust flies a foot into the air and he waves it away with his hands, coughing up what particles got into his lungs. He flips the cover open and thumbs to the table of contents, the thin dusty pages slipping over his fingers. He finds the section on summoning runes and quickly turns to page 84, squinting at the tiny print that reads _‘Runes For Communication And Summoning’_.

The spell calls for the runes to be written in white chalk upon the ground and then spoken aloud. He turns back to the open cupboard and grabs a small piece of white chalk rolling around at the bottom of the cupboard.

 

Finding a space on his aging wooden floor, he begins to trace the runes along the ground. His hand shakes from nerves so much that he has to redraw some until he’s completely satisfied. He clears his throat and speaks the runes clearly.

“ _hagalaz ansuz et gebō raidō ot Crowley_.”

Then he waits, his heart pounding in his chest. And waits. And waits some more.

Nothing happens.

He looks down at the card, but the runes are the only things on it besides the name. He re-checks the symbols once again but they’re all correct. He turns back to the Grimoire to read the rest of the page but it offers no solutions. He flips the card to the back but it’s empty, just solid, blank, blackness. He flips it over again. The front is red.

Maybe it’s a hint, or a clue. Most summoning spells need only the person’s specific runs but some call for more, either gems or candles.

Castiel turns back to his bedside cupboard and rummages around for a black candle and a red candle, usually used for black magic and blood magic.

He sets them on either sides of the runes, the red one on top and the black on the bottom. He hesitates for a moment. Summoning runes are one thing, but these candles are used almost exclusively for evil things. Most people don’t even have them around but being a necromancer means that he often has access to a lot of things ‘most people’ don’t have. To give him the card, Crowley must have known that.

Then he thinks of that tiny empty box on his birth certificate. Of Dean’s lips against his. So, he throws all caution to the wind and lights the candles.

He knows the exact moment he’s done it right. It’s the crackle of electricity in the air; that spark of magic that he taps into with such ease.

The runes begin to glow and hum, the flames of the candles glow bright blue and shoot up three inches. The ground begins to shake a little and he has the split second thought that he’s going to wake up the whole house doing this before a glowing blue handprint appears to the right of the runes.

He doesn’t waste a moment in settling his hand atop it. His fingers are slightly slimmer but just as long as the print. The second he presses down on it, it turns bright red and glows hot. He hisses in pain but doesn't pull off.

Thin branches of light begin to peel off the handprint and curl themselves around his hand and up his arm, searing alongside his veins. He cries out in pain when he feels a tug from the light.

This is wrong, this shouldn’t happen in a summoning spell.

He realizes a second too late that it isn’t a summoning. It’s a calling.

The room spins around him and he shuts his eyes tight and tries to block out the roaring in his ears and the splitting pain up his right arm.

It’s a few long agonizing moments before the pain begins to recede. The loud wind blowing slows to a stop and the only proof of what happened is left in the pounding of his heart. When he opens his eyes, he finds another.

He has no idea where he is. The only indicator that everything apparently went according to plan is the man standing directly in front of him with his hand lain casually against a charred handprint on a wooden table.

“Hello, love. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

Cas rolls his eyes and scrabbles of the floor, flexing the fingers on his right hand to push away the last tingles of pain.

“You didn’t tell me what kind of spell that was,” Cas accuses, looking around the unfamiliar room. It’s dimly lit so his vision doesn’t go too far, but it’s small from what he can tell. Ornate as well, judging by the desk Crowley is leaning up against.

“What kind of warlock doesn’t know a transportation spell when he sees one?” Crowley scoffs and crosses his arms. “And what are you wearing? Do you willingly walk outside in that?”

Cas looks down at himself. He’s still in the clothes he haphazardly threw on this morning when Jess called him. It’s been a long day.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Crowley just shakes his head, clearly they’re not getting off on a very good foot.

“It’s just a good thing we don’t need you for fashion advice,” Crowley hums condescendingly before turning on his heel and walking through a small doorway that Castiel didn’t notice before.

“We?” Castiel balks. “Who’s we? And what do you want me for?!” he asks to the empty doorway before jogging around the table and following Crowley through it. “Where-”

His entire train of thought derails when he walks into the most opulent room he’s ever been in. No one in town is rich by any means, so wherever the transportation spell took him, it’s farther than he thought.

He steps out onto marble tiled floors, gleaming white as the only bright spot in the whole room. The ceilings must be fifteen feet, if not more, and enormous windows stretch along the entire length of the blood red walls, framed by equally long grey curtains. An immense chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling, dangling with crystals from the gold frame. A plush black carpet fills the area of the room that holds a large coffee table and four tall couches. On the couches sit three of the most sour looking people Cas has ever laid eyes on.

“Hey,” he says pathetically, giving a little wave to the ominous circle of people.

They give him almost identical looks of displeasure. Crowley, who is standing by the fourth unoccupied couch, beckons him over. He reluctantly makes his way across the room, his shoes echoing off the enormous walls. Crowley grips his arm tightly the moment he’s in reach and manhandles him onto the couch. Crowley walks to the drink tray, pouring amber liquid into a glass tumbler and hands it to Castiel. He tries to refuse it thinking that he’s probably had too much to drink tonight already but Crowley forcibly places it in his hand and takes a seat on the couch beside him.

“Castiel, this is Meg, Bela and Ruby.” Crowley points to each of the women on the couches. “Everyone, this is Castiel.”

Cas gives them a small smile which they don’t return. The woman on the left, Meg, finally give him a response.

“Hello, Castiel,” she says with a cool smile. She’s pretty, all of the women are. Each with long, dark hair, full lips and pale faces. He thinks they must be at least ten years older than him, if not more. There’s all sorts of anti-aging spells people are on these days.

“Castiel here is going to help us fill a much needed space in our little group,” Crowley says cryptically. Or at least, Castiel thinks it’s cryptically. Meg, Bela, and Ruby seem to know exactly what he means.

“Absolutely not,” Bela declares.

“Are you out of your mind, Crowley!?” Meg cries.

“He’s supposed to be our _powerful necromancer_?” Ruby questions. “He’s a kid!”

“I think I’d rather use him for a virgin sacrifice.”

“I think I’d like to take his virginity.”

“NOBODY IS HAVING SEX WITH THE NECROMANCER,” Crowley bellowed, silencing the rest of the room. Castiel looks from the three women leering at him to the man beside him.

“Necromancy. That’s what you want me for,” Castiel accuses. “Well I don’t know what you’re planning on doing but I want no part of it,” he decides, standing up assertively, setting the drink down on the table in front of him.

“If that was really true, you wouldn’t be here. So sit down, shut up, and listen because we are the only chance you have to find a Guardian.”

Castiel is quieted at that, unable to argue with the truth of why he came here. Crowley reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flat circular piece of wood and throws it down onto the table.

“Search him,” he says to the women. Castiel expects them to stand up and go through his pockets or something, but instead they each press their fingertips against the edge of the circle, the way one would hold a planchette. They each shut their eyes, a look of pure concentration passing over each of their faces.

He suddenly feels a sense of, for lack of a better word, violation. Of being examined very closely. Like knives making small incisions all over his skin, and eyes pushing under the cuts to look inquisitively at his insides. Thankfully it ends quickly, and when the three women open their eyes again it seems as though they’re looking at him in a new light.

“You have a very strong soul bond,” Meg says, almost disappointedly.

“It would be shame to see it give you such hardship later in life,” Bela smirked, sounding as though it would be the ultimate schadenfreude for her. He glares down at her, finding her tone revolting, and snatches the wooden circle off the table, sitting down to examine it.

It’s engraved with incredibly detailed symbols and runes. He recognizes a number of them. The symbols for mind, body and soul are repeated around the edges, and the centre is filled with transparency runes, searching runes, and several more he doesn’t recognize but can guess well enough what they do.

“So you use this to… to what? Look inside people? See their minds and soul, figure out what makes them tick. What you can use to manipulate them.” He tosses the wooden circle back onto the table in frustration. “You already did that to me already, didn’t you? That’s how you knew all of that stuff,” he accuses, looking at Crowley, who nods.

“This is so illegal,” Castiel states. There aren’t many regulations on magic but one that’s always been stressed is the respect of privacy. Under no circumstances should anyone ever create magic for the sole purpose of unwillingly delving into someone elses mind.

“That’s rich, coming from a necromancer,” Bela sneered.

“Necromancy isn’t illegal, it’s just frowned upon,” Castiel retorts, returning her glare.

“Down boy,” Crowley warns. “And Bela, stop antagonizing him. If we’re at each other’s throats all the time we’ll never get anything finished.”

Bela seems to simmer down, along with the other room, but Castiel still feels incredibly out of the loop.

“Will someone tell me what exactly it is we’re doing here?” Castiel frowns. It must be incredibly late at night by now and Castiel is already exhausted from this strange meeting. He can hear his heart beating in the thick silence following his question. Finally, Ruby begins to speak.

“All the world over, everyone has been told the importance of Guardianship. It’s considered a necessity. However, there are those who believe that the concept of Guardianship is… for lack of a better word… bullshit. That when the Absent Gods departed, they did it with the knowledge that we were now free to control our own powers, making the need for a Guardian unnecessary.”

“But all the history books say they left the world in chaos and ruin and the only thing that saved us was the creation of Guardianship,” Castiel recites from memory, recalling the creation story he’s been taught countless times over the years.

“That’s because history books are written by brainwashed idiots who regurgitate the same crap their predecessors did,” Crowley counters.

“The first record of anything of that nature ever being said is a historical text written in 3028 BC, almost five hundred years after the closest estimate of the departure of the Gods,” Meg explains. “Any records before that were either not written, or the more likely scenario, have been destroyed.”

While talking, she stood up and walked to a chestnut set of drawers and pulled out a large manila file folder, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. Castiel opened it without having to be asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Those are all the historical documents we’ve dug up on the topic of Guardianship. The kind of stuff they don’t show you in the textbooks.” Meg grinned deviously, glancing toward Ruby. “We mostly owe it to Ruby, she’s the historian.”

“I have ties in some of the older museums and libraries out East. I pulled a few strings,” Ruby gloats, and with every right. Even five minutes of looking through some of these pages Castiel learns more things than he’s ever been taught in all twelve years of his education.

The pages are ancient, and he feels as though they’ll crumble at his very fingertips even though he rationalizes that they must have some sort of protection charms on them. The first one he picks up is written in a language he neither speaks nor has heard of.

“It’s a prayer to the Gods,” Ruby offers. “Thanking them for all they’ve given to this world, and for their _everlasting_ Guardianship over it.” She stresses the word heavily. “There’s more but…” she reaches over and snatches the file away from him again, “you have to earn our trust a little more before we show you anything else.”

The other three flash evil smiles in agreement.

“I don’t even know if I want to earn your trust,” Castiel exclaims. “I still don’t know what you want me for!”

"We want you to help us with a little project we're working on. Our original necromancer... ran into some unfortunate complications that resulted in his untimely death. We were hoping you could fill his shoes," says Crowley.

"The last person who had this job died. What kind of incentive is that?" asks Castiel.

"The project involves bringing awareness to the public about the true nature of Guardianship," Crowley explains and it feels like the most information Castiel has been given all night. "That is something you can benefit from. In fact, that is something we can all benefit from..."

"Ahem." Ruby coughs pointedly, looking just as uncomfortable as her companions.

"You're all UnGuardianed too?" Castiel says, in awe of the revelation. "So you all practice magic illegally!"

"If you help us we might not have to illegally practice what is our right!" Bela pleads. "And neither will you when you come of age."

"Don't you want to complete that soul bond one day?" Meg asks as if she knows exactly what his weak spot is.

And Gods is she right. Castiel realizes he will do almost anything to have a normal life and to live it with Dean Winchester by his side always. Up to and including conspiring to perform illegal magic.

"Fine. What do you need me to do?"

The three women try - and fail spectacularly - to look nonchalant about his answer. Crowley hands him a small slip of paper.

"This is the first of four lists that contain items we need you to collect for us. All of this can be obtained legally by you, but not by us."

Castiel looks over the list and finds the items to be common enough. A couple gems he could probably get from Mrs. Winchester. Some of the candles he already has. Any spell book should have a copy of most, if not all of the spells the list requires.

"Alright, I can do this." he agrees.

"Perfect!" Crowley exclaims and claps his hands together once excitedly. "Have all the items within the end of the week. I will find you, and don't call again unless it is absolutely necessary. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone."

Castiel finds these conditions agreeable and nods. "Now, uhm... how do I get home from here?"

Meg smirks at him knowingly and says, "Leave that to me."

She pulls what appears to be a tin of some sort of thick dark substance out of her pocket, dips the tip if her index finger in it, and reaches over the table towards him. Meg draws a quick symbol on his forehead, and with a sly smile presses two fingers to the space between his eyebrows.

"Think of home, kid." Cas has half a second to react to the strange command before she pushes ever so gently into his forehead, and he feels an enormous rush of wind, similar to the one he felt getting here but with only half the pain. The room spins around him, making him feel a little nauseous until it all slows to reveal his tiny bedroom in the orphanage.

He's sitting on the floor in the exact spot he performed the transportation spell almost an hour ago. His room is exactly as he left it, as if he had not moved at all, save for the absence of a glowing handprint on the ground. The runes, however, remain and he scuffs them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

He stands gingerly, his muscles aching from such a long and strenuous day and when he falls face first into bed - clothes on and all - he’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel’s mouth tastes like cotton balls when he wakes the next morning. His lips are parted and he’s slowly breathing in all the little dust particles from being squished face first into his bed covers. He pulls himself up, coughing dryly, trying to get some moisture back into his throat.

Castiel sits up fully and scans his room for any sign of water to soothe his parched throat. Finding nothing he resigns himself to getting up to find a bathroom, or at least a sink. He stumbles out of his room and takes a left down the narrow hallway to the door at the end of the hall, the main boys bathroom.

The bathroom is empty and there’s no line up for it, which means he’s either awake much earlier than everyone else, or much later and he quickly sends a prayer that it’s the first. He turns the cold water tap on full blast and practically stick his entire head into the sink, lapping at the rapidly cooling water desperately. It rushes down his throat, softening the burn.

He straightens back up again, splashing some of the freezing water on his face to shock him into wakefulness. Castiel turns the tap off and blinking cold water droplets out of his eyes, and looks up at the mirror.

“That was the weirdest day ever.” he declares to his reflection. He would almost believe it didn’t really happen, were it not that the proof is almost etched onto his tired face.

There are enormous, dark bags under his eyes that make him look a thousand years old. His skin is pallid and too tight in the forehead and too loose in his cheeks. His eyes are hollow and distant and he has to blink a couple more times to get them to focus properly.

He looks about the same way he feels. Like he walked to the end of the earth. Or he aged a thousand years in a night. Or he’s been to the very dawn of time.

Any way you swing it, his life has practically been turned on his head.

His friends know that he’s UnGuardianed and probably shares a soul bond with his best friend. He got denied Guardianship for the umpteenth time and might have found a solution to the problem in the form of a group of illegal warlocks performing dark magic.

Oh and he made out with Dean Winchester.

He smiles fondly at the memory. Of all the things he remembers about yesterday, Dean’s lips on his is what he recalls most vividly. He sinks into the memory, his eyes fluttering closed the way they did last night. He thinks about the way Dean’s hands wrapped so easily around his waist, drawing him in with confidence and pressing them closer together and what would have happened if—

No. He snaps out of the memory and splashes his face with water again, cursing himself for being so easily swayed by Dean’s touch. But then it hits him.

What’s _really_ stopping him from being with Dean anymore?

He has a plan now. He isn’t helpless anymore; he’s found a way to get what he wants. There’s a newborn fire in his chest, kindled by the hope that Crowley and the others have given him, and alight with his own determination. They have a chance now, not just to be together in the present, but also later down the road. To complete their soul bond, instead of going mad from the pain.

If he wants to be with Dean, then the only variable left is whether Dean wants to be with him still. After the incident last night, and his pretty harsh rejection, Cas isn’t sure whether that’s still true, but he supposes there’s only one way to find out.

He runs back to his room, desperate for a change of clothes, as he’s officially been wearing the same thing for twenty-four hours now. He takes the stairs two at a time, whipping around the banister to the kitchen to see if there’s breakfast on the table. The house is still sparse of any life and it’s confusing until he glances at the large analog clock that hangs in the dining room at see’s that it’s 11:25, two and a half hours after school started.

Foregoing any previous thoughts of breakfast, despite his rumbling stomach, he books it out the front door and runs to school. He’s so late already it might actually be worth it for him to do a transportation spell, but since he has no supplies on him and it would be less beneficial to turn back now and get them, he settles on a good old fashioned jog.

He makes it in record time, bursting through the front doors no more than ten minutes after leaving home. He gives a jaunty wave to the woman working at the front desk that pretends to hate him but always lets him get away with being a couple minutes early, and often has a muffin for him if he’s missed breakfast, even if she serves it with a scowl. He doesn’t have time to stop a chat today. He’s on a mission.

It’s just past 11:30, which means Dean is still in History class, where Castiel himself should be right now as well. He walks briskly down the long hallway, knowing the route to classroom 107 so well he could get there with his eyes closed. He reaches the large wooden door and without a second hesitation, throws it open.

Twenty pairs of eyes snap to him as he stands firmly in the doorway, but he only cares for one. The emerald green ones sitting in the third row.

“I need to talk to Dean Winchester.” he says breathlessly, not taking his eyes off Dean’s confused expression.

“Castiel! Why don’t you come sit down,” his teacher Ms. Visyak says kindly. “You’re already late let’s not cause any more disturbances.”

“With all due respect, I really don’t care about class right now and all I want to do is talk to my friend for five minutes,” he snaps back.

“Castiel, you will take a seat and participate in class like the rest of your classmates or I’ll have the office call your parents,” she says, her voice gaining an icy edge. On any other day he has the utmost respect for most teachers, but not today.

“Well considering I don’t have parents I would say that would be a fruitless action but if you want to take a chance at contacting their departed spirits, I’d be happy to help,” he retorts smartly, his heart pounding. She purses her lips, unsure of how to respond. He doesn’t have time to wait for her to figure it out. “Dean?”

He raises his eyebrows at Dean who slowly eases out of his chair, looking sheepishly at their teacher. Ms. Visyak simply rolls her eyes and waves him out the door and he quickens his pace and steps out into the hallway, closing the door shut behind him.

“Hey,” says Dean with anticipation.

Their chests are practically touching they’re standing so close together. Neither of them are making any move to back off either, which Castiel takes as a good sign.

“What if I told you…” Cas begins, unsure of where he’s going with this exactly. Dean’s eyes are very distracting. “that not only am I sorry for everything that happened last night, but! No, don’t interrupt me! But also that I’ve found a way to fix it. All of it. And that I’d be really okay if… _if-you-took-me-to-the-Harvest-Dance_.” he rushes the last sentence, unsure of whether he really means what he’s saying. The look of joy that spreads on Dean’s face confirms for him that yes, he absolutely meant it.

“I would ask if I could kiss you again because I spent all last night thinkin’ about how I was only ever gonna get to do that once.” he says tentatively, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Cas nods once and wastes no time getting at what he wants, threading his hands into Dean’s hair and pulling his face forward those last few inches until their lips meet.

It’s a little awkward, and Dean’s teeth get in the way a bit which probably has to do with the fact that this kiss isn’t blurred by the effects of alcohol, but in a way, it’s all the better for it.

Sure it isn’t perfect or mesmerizing, but it also isn’t suffocating or emotionally draining. Castiel is so thankful that it can be like this too. Like warm honey in your tea, or cinnamon in apple pie. Like coming home.

Dean has the nerve to pull away.

“And then I would ask for an explanation because like what the hell, Cas?” he asks curiously but not menacingly. “I mean I admit that I love you and I don’t care about the Guardianship bullshit or completing the stupid soul bond, and you reject me and tell me to go home. And I don’t love you despite all that crap man; I love you more through it, and because of it. And because I’m stuck with you through all of that shit but also beside you and I’m just… rambling now.” Dean sighs, hanging his head, and Cas can’t help but think it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “D’you know what I mean?”

He presses a short, sweet kiss to Dean’s lips as reassurance.

“I know what you mean.” Castiel grins. “And I’m going to explain everything to you, but can we do it at your house, because I was also hoping your mom had some gemstones I could borrow.”

Cas gives him a crooked, hopeful smile to which Dean frowns at.

“Like right now?” he asks.

“Yeah why not?”

“Uhm, because we’re supposed to be in class, dude.” Dean laughs like it’s obvious. Cas pins him with an unimpressed glare.

“Can you be less of a nerd for like a couple hours and skip class with me for once?” he pleads. Dean contemplates it. “We could make out a lot more if we’re not in school.”

Dean’s eyebrows fly to his hairline and he nods once and spins on his heel towards the door to 107, which confuses Castiel for a second until he remembers Dean has to get his things.

Dean throws open the door and practically skips back to his seat and grabs his bag from under his seat, ignoring the dark look he gets from Ms. Visyak except to whisper, “family emergency,” as a lame, fake excuse for why he’s skipping out on class, before he’s back at Cas’s side.

They set off down the hall arm in arm and Cas’s heart feels lighter than it ever has. He throws a quick wave to the woman at the front desk and exits the building. When they officially step off school grounds, Dean threads their fingers together and pulls Cas’s hand up to his lips, pressing a quick kiss against his knuckles.

That simple reassurance is all Castiel could ask for and more.

~

When Dean wakes the morning after Charlie’s party, he vows to never get out of bed ever. If he doesn’t get up then he doesn’t have to face the huge embarrassment he made out of himself to his best friend. He doesn’t have to re-live Cas’s rejection over and over again every time he meets his eyes.

His mom knocking on his door telling him breakfast is ready thwarts his plan. If he doesn’t get up now Sammy’s going to eat all of it and save nothing for Dean. Then he’s really gonna be bigger and taller than Dean, and he can’t let that happen.

He throws off the covers, groaning at his pounding head.

He rummages through his closet for the darkest clothes he owns to match exactly how he feels because, yeah, it’s one of those days. He settles on a black Henley and his favourite pair of dark wash jeans. He’ll wear his black robe today too, for added emphasis.

Dean stumbles downstairs and into the Winchester’s large dining room. A little over twenty four hours ago he found his best friend sitting on this very floor looking up at him with round shocked eyes and an embarrassed blush spreading across his cheeks. What he would give to find him here now and apologize over and over again for everything he fucked up between them. Instead he finds his father and brother eating breakfast quietly at the table, while his mother bustles about by the stove.

He throws a quick wave at Sam and Dad’s direction but opts to follow his mom into the kitchen, knowing that she’ll be more forgiving than his father about staying out late on a school night.

“Mornin’ mom,” he smiles, plucking a sausage out of the pan on the stove.

“Dean honey, don’t do that you’ll burn your fingers,” she coos over him and presses a kiss to the side of his head. “Good morning.”

He hops up onto the counter beside the stove, earning a frown from his mom because she’s told him a thousand times that’s no place to sit and he never listens. She thankfully lets it slide this time. Maybe she can sense how awful he’s feeling and is cutting him some slack. He always thought that his mom might be an empath, but every time he asks she just gives him a sly knowing smile and a shrug.

“So how was the party last night?” she asks.

“It was ok,” he shrugs noncommittally.

“Anything interesting happen?” she prods him for a more descriptive answer, something he doesn’t really wanna give.

“Ehhh, not really.”

“Was Cas there?”

“C-Cas?” he coughs, choking on the breakfast sausage. “No. I mean, yeah, like, he was. Um, for a bit. He’s friends with Charlie… so, yeah.”

“I thought he might have been too tired to go,” Mary suggests. “That boy always looks so tired and he was up awfully early yesterday.”

“Maybe he took a nap,” Dean croaks. His mom raises an eyebrow in disbelief but thankfully turns back to the pan of sausages.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief that her line of questioning stops there. He quickly finishes up the first sausage and grabs for a second - they’re so good. He figures that’s a good enough breakfast but his mom disagrees and doesn’t let him leave without handing him a plate of scrambled eggs first. They’re just as tasty as the sausages so he doesn’t complain, but wolfs them down so he won’t be late for school.

He takes one last bite of egg and hops off the counter to go tell Sam he’s ready to go but his mom stops him with a hand to his arm and pulls him in for a sudden hug. Dean overcomes his shock to wrap his arms around his mom’s back.

“Honey, you know I’m always here for you. Whatever it is that’s bugging you, you can talk to me about it,” she assures him quietly. He holds her a little tighter, reveling in the fact that she always seems to know what to say.

“I know, Mom,” he mumbles, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He remembers when his parents looked like giants, towering over him and strong enough that they could lift him up whenever. Now he marvels at how much taller he is than his mother and still growing.

He knows without a doubt that he could tell her everything that went down between him and Cas and she wouldn’t judge him for a second, but he’s not sure he could get the words out without breaking down. Or without revealing Cas’s entire life story and the revelation of their soul bond, something that they promised each other to keep under wraps. She saves him from making the decision by pulling back and smiling up at him with her green eyes that are so like his.

“Alright, get going with your brother to school or you’ll both be late.”

“Yeah come on Dean!” Sam hollers from the dining room. “My attendance record is more important than your manpain, let’s go.”

Dean groans and follows his brother through the house, slipping on his shoes at the front door. “Why does everyone in this family think I’m fragile?” Dean asks.

“Because you wear your emotions on your sleeve, dumbass.” Sam scoffs and then plucks at his black shirt. “In this case your very literal dark, mopey, I’m-so-depressed sleeve. You’re gonna wear your black cloak and everything aren’t you.”

Dean, just to spite him, picks his mustard yellow one out of the closet instead. It clashes horribly with the rest of his outfit but it’s worth it for the pissed off look Sam flashes him.

They call a goodbye to each of their parents and finally leave the house. They bicker the whole way to school but it strangely makes Dean feel better. At least he knows that regardless of how fucked up things get with Cas, he’ll always have his little brother to make everything seem better.

They have to go their separate ways once they reach the school. Sam’s four years younger so even if he has mixed classes with kids from other years, the gap is always too big between them to end up in the same class.

Dean’s first class is Runes, one that he shares with Cas. Immediately, the embarrassment and frustration he felt last night and this morning rushes back and clenches in his stomach as he approaches the classroom door. Unfortunately, he can’t exactly turn away now so there’s nothing left to do but suck it up and face the music.

He creaks the door open slowly, peeking his head in to look around at the room. There are only a few of his classmates at their desks, but none of them are Cas. Class hasn’t officially started yet so apparently he’s got some time until Cas gets here. He slinks in quietly and takes his seat beside Benny.

“So,” Benny starts but Dean silences him immediately.

“I don’t want to talk about it, man,” Dean interjects. Benny sighs in frustration but agrees to let it go. They make small talk about what assignments they have due for various classes soon until the teacher calls attention to the class to begin the lesson.

Dean looks at the empty seat on his left side where Cas usually sits but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s probably just a couple minutes late, Dean thinks.

Ten minutes passes and there’s still no sign of him. Dean can barely concentrate through class, thinking about all the reasons he could have missed class for. It’s not uncommon for Cas to miss a class or two, especially the first one of the day. He’s a perpetually late sleeper and it takes ages to drag him out of bed. Maybe Cas was even more hungover than Dean, and he’s just gonna miss first period, or forgot to set his alarm.

By History class Dean is convinced that Cas has been kidnapped by body snatchers who cut him up and used his organs for black magic.

Oh Gods, how could Dean be so stupid. He didn’t make sure to see if Cas got in his house safely, he just walked away! And now his best friend has been used for some sort of gross body modification spell or something that turns people into toads.

Before Dean can go into full on cardiac arrest at the thought of all the horrific things they learned about in Potion 101 happening to his best friend, Cas bursts open the door to their History class and says, “I need to talk to Dean Winchester.”

Dean has a second to breathe a sigh of relief before Cas locks eyes with him and he remembers that although he’s happy his best friend is alive, the last thing he wants to do is talk to him right now.

“Castiel, why don’t you come sit down,” Ms. Visyak says and Dean silently agrees. He’s really not prepared to talk to Cas right now. “You’re already late let’s not cause any more disturbances.”

“With all due respect, I really don’t care about class right now and all I want to do is talk to my friend for five minutes,” Cas snaps back and Gods, that sass is going to get him into trouble one day.

“Castiel, you will take a seat and participate in class like the rest of your classmates or I’ll have the office call your parents,” she says icily. Dean cringes at her sharp tone, knowing that Cas is going to rail against her even harder.

“Well, considering I don’t have parents I would say that would be a fruitless action but if you want to take a chance at contacting their departed spirits, I’d be happy to help.”

“Dean?” Cas’s eyes snap back to his and Dean resolves that he might as well get this over and done with as soon as possible. He throws and apologetic look to his teacher as he stands and makes his way over the Cas at the door, pulling it shut behind both of them.

Cas looks… well he looks awful, frankly. His hair is a mess, ever more than usual, his eyes are sunken and he looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.

Dean can think of a million things to say to him. How he’s sorry, and he wishes he could’ve respected Cas’s boundaries and he understands how messed up everything is but he just wants to help.

He settles on, “Hey.”

For some reason, that seems to be enough to break the dam behind Cas’s stoic face and his expression floods with emotion.

“What if... I told you that not only am I sorry for everything that happened last night, but,” Dean makes to interrupt him because he should be the one apologizing, not Cas, but he just keeps on going. “No, don’t interrupt me! But also that I’ve found a way to fix it. All of it. And that I’d be really okay if… _if-you-took-me-to-the-Harvest-Dance_.”

Cas gets really quiet at the end but all he needs to hear is “you” “me” and “Harvest Dance” and his world is suddenly perfect. He doesn’t know what happened over night to change Cas’s mind about everything so suddenly, but right now he just doesn’t care. Cas is his if he wants, and _Gods_ does he want that.

“If would ask if I could kiss you again because I spent all last night thinkin’ about how I was only ever gonna get to do that once.” Dean asks, biting into his bottom lip and hoping he’s not being too forward. He just keeps thinking about how damn amazing Cas’s lips feel against his and all he wants to do is kiss him over and over again.

Cas gives him a small, perfect smile and nods quickly. Before he knows it Cas is pulling his head down to meet him in a soft, insistent kiss. Dean feels like an idiot because he lets his teeth get all in the way and he grabs onto his waist far too late into this kiss and somehow it’s still the best thing ever.

And although he never wants to stop, because Cas is so pliant and warm in his arms and he’s wanted this for so long, he has some questions.

“And then I would ask for an explanation because like what the hell, Cas?” he asks, pulling away. “I mean I admit that I love you and I don’t care about the Guardianship bullshit or completing the stupid soul bond, and you reject me and tell me to go home.” He’s on a roll as words continue to flood out of him. “And y’know I don’t love you despite all that crap man; I love you more through it, and because of it. And because I’m stuck with you through all of that shit but also beside you and I’m just… rambling now.” Dean sighs and hangs his head. “D’you know what I mean?”

Cas presses another kiss to his lips. “I know what you mean.” Castiel grins. “And I’m going to explain everything to you, but can we do it at your house, because I was also hoping your mom had some gemstones I could borrow.”

Cas gives him a crooked, hopeful smile and Dean frowns. He can’t _seriously_ want to skip school when he just got here.

He does.

They argue for a bit over skipping class. Cas calls him a nerd and then promises they can make out some more - Gods, he’s gonna get whiplash from this guy – but Dean agrees in the end.

The only obstacle to navigate now is that his mom is home when they get back, sitting in the living room curled up on the couch reading a book.

“Hey…mom…?” Dean cringes, still hiding halfway behind the door and Cas tucked up even closer behind him. She sets down her book and frowns.

“Dean what are you doing home so early?”

Dean licks his lips, fumbling for an answer that’s legitimate enough for her to believe, but not an outright lie. Cas comes to the rescue, stepping into the front lobby with a pained expression.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Winchester. I was feeling really dizzy at school and Dean offered to bring me back here because, you know, there’s no one really permanent at my… house to take care of us and--”

“Oh no, sweetie it’s okay.” Dean’s mother practically jumps out of her seat and just like that, Mary Winchester snaps into mother hen mode. Damn, Cas is good at this. “C’mere, you look so pale Castiel. Have you eaten anything today?”

Dean shuts the door behind him and his mom comes right up to Cas, resting her hand over his forehead to feel his temperature. Though now that she’s mentioned it, Cas does look a little peaky. Shit, maybe this isn’t an act at all.

“Uh, no I kind of ran out of the house this morning. I didn’t really have time to grab anything to eat,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well come on into the kitchen, Cas. I’ll make you boys some sandwiches.” Mary and Cas walk into the kitchen, her hand on his shoulder. Dean follows slowly behind, lost in thought, trying to piece together what was really up with Cas. Coming to school more than two hours late, hasn’t eaten a thing, and looks like he didn’t sleep all night... Something is definitely wrong, and Dean wishes to the Gods that he knew what.

Cas settles himself into the bench seat at the small breakfast table that sits in the corner of the kitchen. He collapses against the table, his hair head of hair poking out between the fold of his arms. Dean can’t deny that he makes an adorable sight. He makes his way over to the tiny table and sits down across from Cas, laying a hand onto one of his.

Cas’s head pokes up; his startling blue eyes peer curiously at Dean, taking his breath away momentarily.

“What up man?” he whispers, recovering swiftly. “You look like you barely slept all night.”

“Um… I didn’t really.” Cas says, looking sheepish. Dean raises his eyebrows, urging Cas to continue further. “Before the party yesterday, I met somebody.”

“Oh.” Dean says weakly, confusion and hurt clouding his mind. Cas _met someone_. Dean makes to take his hand off of Cas’s, but the other boy latches on harder, lacing their fingers together.

“Not like that, Dean.” It’s the strongest he’s sounded all morning and Dean trusts his firm voice unreservedly. “It was this middle aged man and he knew a lot of things about me.” Cas’s eyes dart to Mary and he leans a little closer, his voice just below a whisper. “Things _no one else knows_.”

The fear Dean feels is reflected back in Cas’s eyes. “How?” Cas shakes his head.

“I don’t think I should tell you any more.”

“Damn it, Cas I—”

“Lunch!” Mary exclaims, setting two plates of sandwiches down in front of them. Their hands spring apart and Dean flashes her a smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.” Cas says quickly and begins digging in, not holding back his hunger in the slightest.

“Castiel, how many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Mary.” she says warmly and reaches over to brush a strand of hair out of Cas’s eyes. He nods once, smiling around his bite of tuna sandwich. “Now you boys eat up, I’ve got to get to work.”

“Wait, M- _Mary_.” Cas coughs, the bite he just hurriedly swallowed having gone down the wrong way. “I was wondering if you have-“ he pauses to pull a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket “two ounces of quartz, and a moonstone.”

Dean frowns at the paper but doesn’t ask about it just yet.

“Of course, Castiel. I believe you know where the supply pantry is.” Mary smiles, her eyes twinkling at the allusion to yesterday morning’s events. Cas blushes a little, but nods yes. “Then feel free to take whatever you need, sweetheart. And try and get back to school for the afternoon, boys.”

“Sure thing, mom!” Dean grins, ignores her eye roll, and waits until she’s definitely left the house and locked the door behind her before he speaks again. “What’s with the list, Cas?”

Cas picks at his sandwich, fidgeting in his chair.

“This guy you met, did he give it to you?” Dean asks, refusing to back down. Cas stays silent. “Just give me something, man. I’m worried about you.”

Cas lets out a resigned sigh. “He gave me this list.” he says, his voice dropping to an ashamed whisper.

“When you met him on the street?”

“After.”

“After what? The party?”

Cas nods. “So you met up with a complete stranger.” Cas nods again. “Where?”

“His house.”

“CAS?!” Dean cries, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It’s complicated, Dean.” Cas frowns.

“Well please enlighten me to the finer details of your late night adventure, because it sounds pretty damn simple to me.”

“What do you want to know?”

Dean thinks for a few minutes before answering.

“Alright, what’s his name?”

“Crowley.” Cas answers without a beat.

“What’s with the list?”

“It’s what Crowley needs me for. Items to collect for him that he can’t get.” Cas states simply. Dean thinks about his next question carefully.

“How’d you meet up with him after the party?”

“He gave me a card with transport runes on it, and said to contact him if I wanted.”

“And I suppose you won’t let me see this card, will you.”

“On the contrary…” Cas reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a very crinkled business card. “I want you to have it.”

Cas lays it on the table, closer to Dean’s half than his own. It’s blood red, the name Crowley, and a series of runes etched in black ink upon it.

“Why are you giving it to me?” Dean asks, taking it anyways. Cas takes a deep breath.

“If something… happens to me, I need you to know where to look first.”

Their eyes meet across the table. Cas’s gaze strong and unwavering; Dean’s frightened and confused.

“Cas, what’s gonna happen to you?” he whispers, reaching for Cas’s hands again and gripping his long fingers tightly.

“Maybe nothing.” Cas gives him a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… I want someone to care about me if it does.”

And _Gods_ , no one is allowed to look that sad asking for someone to give a shit about them, but especially not Cas.

Dean slides around the table to take a seat beside Cas. His lips part in worry but before he can say a thing, Dean cradles his face between his hands and brings their lips together in a firm, chaste kiss. Cas’s hands come up to grip at Dean’s shirt as his kisses press more and more insistently against his lips.

“I care.” Dean says quickly before diving back in for more. “I care what happens to you. I care if you’re hurt, or scared, or in danger. Capiche?”

They’re pressed close enough together that Cas’s nose brushes his when he nods. “I capiche.”

Dean laughs and rests their foreheads together. His eyes fall shut and he lets his other senses take over. He listens to the soft hitch in Cas’s breath whenever he brushes a soft kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering hint of minty toothpaste on his lips. He gives into the feeling of Cas’s soft fingers trailing up his throat and across his jaw. And for several long minutes he selfishly refuses to ask why, suddenly, they’re allowed to have this.

Cas, ever intuitive to Dean’s internal struggles, pushes gently away from Dean’s chest. The intense, heated air dissipates immediately. Their soul bond, which had been minding it’s own business all morning, decides to make an appearance by violently lashing out against Cas for ending the kiss.

Dean doesn’t get the brunt of it but winces at the sharp back-kick he feels as it bounces off of Cas’s soul back into his own.

“You wish to know why.” Cas whispers, refusing to meet his gaze. “What has changed, more specifically.”

“It’s got something to do with this Crowley guy, right?” Dean fiddles with the bright red card on the table. Cas nods slowly. “And these lists.” Cas nods again. “How is any of this supposed to help?”

“They won’t tell me exactly-” Dean starts to object because _wow yeah that’s not sketchy at all Cas_ , but he powers on “-but if I help them, and if I do whatever they say, there is a very good chance that all of this Guardianship stuff will be solved.”

Dean shakes his head in dismay. “Cas, what does it say about me if I’m willing to sacrifice your life and your safety so that we might one day be able to be together?”

“Dean. Look at me.” Cas pushes his head, which had dropped to stare angrily at his hands, up by his chin to meet his cold blue eyes. “If I get hurt, it is not your fault. I am responsible for my own well being and I’m expecting you to respect that.”

Dean stays silent but lets Cas continue.

“If I feel unsafe, I’ll call. But if I am in danger it is because my own action put me there. But when I make that call, I don’t want to make it to my best friend. I want to call my boyfriend. Because if this doesn’t work, and this is the only time we’ll ever have… I don’t want to waste it.”

Dean brushes a freshly fallen tear off of Cas’s cheek as he cups his face between his hands. A heavy pregnant pause lingers between them for a few moments before Dean finally breaks it.

“Do you want a crayon and a piece of paper to go with your ‘Do You Like Me? Check Yes Or No’ speech?”

Cas cuffs him on the shoulder, blinking hard against unshed tears. A slight upturn in his lips signalling that he still finds Dean’s jokes a little bit funny.

“Okay, Cas.” Dean nods. “I’m checking the Yes box.”

It goes against every gut instinct he has, but he agrees. And when Cas gives him one of his warm, special smiles reserved only for Dean, he plants a kiss over the slight curve of his perfect, pink mouth. And when Cas whispers between their lips “I’ll be fine”, Dean believes him unequivocally.

He stupidly and covetously lets himself believe that there’s no reason they shouldn’t be together. That Cas isn’t in danger. That he’ll get better.

He sends Cas home that afternoon with a hickey on his neck and a promise that everything will be okay in return.

The thing is, it’s not okay. And Cas doesn’t get better.

If anything, Cas gets worse.

He’s late for school four out of five days, falls asleep in class, and sometimes even leaves early with pathetic excuses about brothers and sisters needing help suddenly.

He’s getting thinner too. He looks more gaunt everyday; the kind of hollowness that doesn’t just come from not eating, but from stress. Mondays are the worst. He arrives to school looking as if he’s seen things that only the worst nightmares dream up.

Even Jess doesn’t know what’s up. The few times they’ve both been over at the Winchester’s for dinner he’s tried to bring it up with her, but she just gives him a sad distant look as if she doesn’t know what the hell is going on with her brother, but she knows it ain’t good.

Yet every day Cas still looks at Dean like he hung the moon, and Dean’s got no clue what he’s done to deserve it. Every time he tries to bring up Cas’s health or mental state, or what’s going on with him, he gets the same answer.

_It’s nothing. It’ll all be worth it in the end. I’m fixing it._

Dean couldn’t disagree more. First, it’s obviously not nothing. There is something seriously going on with his best friend’s - _boyfriend’s_ \- life and he won’t tell Dean what it is. Secondly, nothing is worth this deterioration of Castiel’s mental state. Dean wouldn’t trade all the gold in the world to have Cas suffer for even one second.

And lastly, Dean isn’t sure what’s broken.

Another thing that is seriously fucking with Dean’s life is the upcoming Harvest Dance. Apparently his friends aren’t as supportive as he thought they would be, because all they’ve done since he told them that he was going with Cas is judge him. Silently, or openly, and he’s not sure which he hates more.

Benny pulled him aside at lunch one day when Cas was missing to ask whether Dean was really thinking this through properly. Jo looks at Cas like becoming UnGuardianed is contagious.

He can’t even get excited about the Harvest Festival he’s so worried about everything. It’s just over a week away and he thought by now he’d be a bundle of nerves for a completely different reason. It’ll be Cas and his most public display of their relationship since it started and that’s a little terrifying. The Sunday before the Dance gives him a little legitimacy to his worries, and a whole new reason to stress.

There was another party at Charlie's, this time so that all their friends could finally meet Gilda. Charlie, who is pretty much Cas and Dean’s only friend who hasn’t treated Cas poorly since this whole ordeal started, invited the both of them, but Cas didn’t show.

Gilda was very nice and all, but Dean thought it best to leave early. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Charlie, but you can only hang out with two people who have everything you’ve ever wanted for so long before you start to get jealous. Not to mention he was a little annoyed with Cas not being there, and not even letting him know, or giving an excuse.

He’d bring it up in the morning though; there was no point in dwelling on it now. So he went home, licked his wounds, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. However, he didn’t stay that way for too long.

_“Dean?!”_

Dean shot up in bed, still groggy from sleep, and reached around for some sort of weapon, finding only a hairbrush. Good enough.

 _“Dean!”_ he heard it again. Like a soft desperate whisper. He peered around the dark room, looking into every shadow for the source of the noise, but there was nothing there. If it wasn’t coming from inside the room, it must be coming from inside his head.

Was he being soul-called in the middle of the night?

_“Dean, oh Gods tell me you’re awake.”_

He slowed his breathing and focused on where the call was coming from inside of him. Each person’s call resonated in a different part of the body, or at least that’s what they’ve always told him in class. It’s kind of true.

His dad and Sam’s calls he always feels bouncing around in his head. Calls from his mom always glow out of his chest. Cas’s undoubtedly originate in the centre of his heart.

 _“Dean please.”_ He’d recognize Cas’s voice anywhere, but the sound waves vibrating from his heart confirm it for him.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” he answers, not verbally but sending his thoughts to the point where Cas’s voice is coming from.

_“Dean, I’m really scared. I'm at a party and I had some of this drink and I really shouldn’t have and my head’s spinning and I don’t know what’s real and what’s in my-”_

“Okay, okay. Cas sshh it’s okay, just calm down.” Dean says – or… thinks? Soul calls still freak him out a little. Not as much as the desperate tone in Cas’s voice though, and he quickly jumps to action. He throws off the covers and reaches around in the dark for some pants and shoes. “Cas, tell me where you are.”

 _“Well I’m… uhm, it’s complicated,”_ Cas cautions. Dean pauses in pulling on his pants to roll his eyes.

“Damn it, Cas I don’t care if it’s complicated.” Dean hisses through the soul bond, zipping up his jeans.

 _“Don’t yell at me!”_ Cas pleads, desperation creeping back into his tone.

“I’m not-” he sighs vocally so Cas doesn’t hear it. “I’m not yelling at you. I’m not mad, Cas. But if you aren’t safe, I need to know where I need to go and pick you up, and who I need to be hexing.”

There’s a pause and then, _“I don’t feel safe.”_

Dean stands up furiously, kicking his bed in anger, thankful he had his shoes on for that. Whoever’s fucking with Cas is so gonna get it.

“How do I get to you?” Dean demands.

 _“Do you remember a couple weeks ago I gave you a small card that had a series of runes on it, to only use in emergencies,”_ Cas says slowly, as though it’s a struggle to get the words out.

“Yeah I do.” Dean reaches for his bedside drawer, pushing aside papers and trinkets until he finds the small red and black card.

 _“This is one of those emergencies,”_ Cas breathes heavily. _“Do you know how to use it?”_

“Yeah, yeah I—Cas are you okay?” Dean asks cautiously as he feels the soul call flickering in his chest.

 _“I think I’m gonna pass out.”_ Cas whispers as the last trails of the soul call fade away and Dean is left in silence.

“Cas!” Dean pleads aloud, gripping his heart where the connection was just lost.

Dean’s heart pounds as he searches the already opened door for a piece of chalk for the runes. His hands finally close around the small white piece and he drops to the ground, scratching the symbols onto the floor and shakily speaking them aloud. He waits a moment but nothing happens.

“Shit, Dean, get it together.” he hisses at himself, thankful no one was around to hear him stress-thinking out loud.

Cas said something else about performing the spell. Candles! He needs candles. A red one and a black one, Cas gave him one of each in case this was gonna happen. He jumps up to grab them out of his cupboard as well as a match. He’s not as good at that ‘snapping-your-fingers-to-get-fire’ thing as Cas is.

Dean lights each of the candles and waits. This time he feels it, and Gods there’s a reason he avoids these spells.

There’s the rushing and the squeezing and the pushing and the feeling like all your insides are turning to jelly and then finally it stops. He finds himself in a small, unfamiliar room, completely lost with only one thought in mind.

I have to find Cas.

There’s a small doorway that appears to lead onto more rooms, Dean hears music and voices through it and he makes his way over to peer out.

The room he sees is vastly different from the one he’s currently in. It’s decked out fully in party decorations, small tables with finger sandwiches and champagne glasses, full and empty, on every surface. People fill almost every corner of the room, laughing and talking and drinking.

The room itself is incredibly ornate. With marble floors, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows. The place is absolutely gorgeous. Dean maneuvers around around the teeming crowd of people, weaving in between drunk guests.

He barely makes it halfway across the room before a hand grabs his shirt and drags him out of the party room and into a much smaller space. Before he knows it, he’s being shoved against a wall and a door is slamming shut, cutting out all the light and most of the noise.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” a man with a thick accent hisses.

“Son of a bitch! Let go of me!” Dean cries and tries to elbow him in the ribs but only succeeds in getting shoved into the wall harder. “I’m looking for guy named Cas, d’you know him?”

The man loosens his grip a little. “Yes I _know_ him, what do you want with him?”

Dean takes his opportunity, turning quickly and twisting the man’s arm to get the upper hand and shoving him against the adjacent wall. Yeah, that’s right. See how he likes it. “He’s my boyfriend! What the hell have you done with him?”

“Ow! Wait!” the man yells. “Are you Dean?”

Dean then lets the man go a little. “How do you know who I am?”

“Because Castiel talks about you all the time,” the man states like it’s obvious. “Get your muddy hands off me and maybe I’ll think about telling you where he is.”

Dean lets him go but not so he can bargain with the asshole about Cas’s possible location; he’s not in the mood for games. He opens the door that leads back to the party room, not even caring to look back at the man but he’s stopped by the three most beautiful and scary women he’s ever laid eyes on. A hand comes down on his shoulder and he looks behind him to see a short pouty man with a grievously rumpled suit.

“Crowley, I thought we had an intervention about your fetish for barely legal boys.” one of them smirks.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Dean says sarcastically. He gets that they just burst out of a closet looking very ruffled, but he doesn’t have time for jokes.

“Ladies, this is Dean,” The man, _Crowley_ (and damn it _this_ is the guy supposed to be helping Cas) says grandiosely. “Dean, Dean. The Dean.”

“Stop saying my name! It’s starting to sound weird,” Dean yells, and a number of people around them stop and look. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on, and where my boyfriend is?!”

One of the women seems to take pity on him and quirks her finger in a beckoning motion to follow. “Come on, lover boy. I’ll take you to him,” she drawls in a similar accent to Crowley. Dean follows her off to the right and through another door and a flight of stairs, finally arriving at a bedroom on the second floor. Cas is tucked into the corner of a large bed, on top of the covers, and clutching his head in his hands. He looks up when Dean enters the room and Dean’s heart melts at the look Cas gives him.

“Dean,” Cas pleads and Dean’s at his side in a second, peeling his hands off his head only to put his own there, dragging his fingers through Cas’s thick hair in soft, comforting circles.

“What’s going on, Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean mumbles soothingly, thankful that Cas is back in his arms again, but also bursting with a million questions. “Is this where you go every week?”

Cas nods sadly. “There isn’t usually a party. And there’s definitely never any ‘herbal stimulants’ in the punch.”

Dean whips around furiously at the group of four now standing in the doorway. “Is he serious?!” he growls. “Did you fucking drug him?”

“Listen here, Dean,” Crowley says, immediately getting defensive. “Cassy, the ladies, and I were working on our little weekly project and he was going to leave once the party started but decided to stay for a bit. Everyone here is drinking the same thing and he’s the only one reacting this way.”

“Maybe because he’s seventeen and the biggest lightweight ever,” Dean defends. “And if you think ‘I drug everyone at parties’ is a good fucking excuse, I suggest you familiarize yourself with state drug laws a little better.”

Dean turns back to Cas, stepping up beside the bed and hauling his boyfriend into a standing position. He has to hold him up to get him to stand properly. “Now, if someone doesn’t help me get the hell out of wherever the fuck I am, the chance of me not reporting this will go from slim to none.” Dean states forcefully, trying to sound as tough as one can while holding up their extremely drunk and floppy boyfriend.

Thankfully one of the women takes his threat at least a little seriously. “I’ll show you how to get out of here, Dean.” She has curly hair and a softer face than the other two. She goes to Cas’s right side and Dean takes his left and together they make their way down the stairs and through a back entrance to the original room he arrived in. Dean thinks maybe he doesn’t hate her as much as the others.

She lets go of Cas and wraps his right arm around Dean’s neck to match the left one, and grabs a small tin off a table in the corner of the room.

“You take care of that boy, ya hear me?” she says, unscrewing the lid. “We need him for something important this Friday.”

Dean frowns. That’s the same night as the Harvest Dance.

“I do that anyway,” he states proudly, but not quite shaking his discomfort. “And what the hell do you need him for on the first night of the festival?”

She smiles apologetically, dips her fingers in some dark substance, and draws a small sigil on both their foreheads. “Ah, I’ll let him tell you that one. Now shut your eyes and picture exactly where you want to go.”

He nods once and does as she says, picturing his bedroom at home. He feels her fingers push against his forehead and then a small lurch.

The air changes around him and he opens his eyes to find himself back in his bedroom, exactly as he was picturing it. Cas mumbles a little in his arms and Dean sets him down on the bed sitting up.

Cas tips forward a little but he’s stationary enough that Dean can peel off his shoes and socks. He ponders removing Cas’s jeans for him. On one hand, it’s gonna be kinda weird for Cas waking up in the morning in Dean’s bed with no pants on and no real memory of how he got there. On the other, they look ridiculously uncomfortable and Cas hates not being as comfy as possible, especially when sleeping.

Dean lets Cas flop onto the bed and he undoes the belt buckle on the tight jeans, pops the button a pulls down the zipper. He quickly peels Cas out of the pants, making sure his underwear stays up, because, wow they are _so_ not there yet, and drops them unceremoniously on the ground.

Cas’s shirt looks soft enough to sleep in, so Dean tugs him around so his head is on the pillow and he pulls the blankets out from under him. He tucks the soft quilt up to Cas’s chin and pushes it in all around Cas’s sides so he’s snug in the bed.

Dean straightens up, smiling down fondly at Cas all tucked up in his bed. This has probably been the strangest and most confusing night of Dean’s life but at least he knows Cas is safe, and that’s all he really needs.

The feeling of fondness fades slightly when Dean realizes that the bed is way too small to snuggle up without disturbing Cas. He opts for the small armchair in the corner of his room. It’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on in the world, but if he gets into the right position it’s not too bad. Besides, after this night he’s so exhausted he could sleep on a bar stool.

So he curls up in the chair and finds a decent enough position, even if his neck is twisted a little awkwardly. Like he thought, he falls asleep within minutes, but it’s very light. Every rustle and sniffle from Cas seems to wake him up.

As dawn is just coming and the sunlight begins to brighten the window, he wakes to his name being softly called and a horrible pain in his neck.

“Deeeeeean,” Cas whispers and Dean’s eyelids pull open. He’s just glad the whisper isn’t coming from inside his head this time. Cas is frowning and reaching one hand towards him. “Come here. With me,” he mumbles. His intent is obvious and Dean doesn't have the strength to refuse him.

He unfurls himself from the tiny chair and Cas shuffles to the far end of the bed, holding the covers up for him. Dean crawls under them and it’s walking into a completely different climate. Under the covers is warm and soft and Cas flops himself on top of Dean’s chest, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Cas’s whisper is muffled by Dean’s neck, but it still breaks his heart a little.

“Shh it’s okay, Cas.” Dean presses a kiss to his head and tightens his arms around Cas’s waist. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

The morning arrives with the sun gleaming in the window and Dean pressed close against Cas’s back, his face smushed into the nape of his neck. He lifts his head for a second and the light burns against his pupils. He quickly shuts them again and presses his face back down against Cas’s warm skin, reveling in the softness of their embrace.

Dean trails his fingers along Cas’s ribs and he snuffles a little in his sleep.

“Caaaassss,” Dean sing-songs. “Y’gotta wake up.”

“Mmmhf, no,” Cas groans and tugs Dean’s arms around him tighter. He almost wants to just relax back into sleep, especially since they don’t have school. But today is the first day of the Harvest and the town takes the entire week off to help out at the farms on the outskirts of town. They’ve probably slept way past any reasonable time anyway, so it’s imperative that they get up.

“Cas, it’s Harvest, we’ve gotta get up.” Dean shuffles out from under Cas and stretches all his loose joints. “Besides, you’ve got helluvalot of explaining to do about last night.”

Cas flips around to lie on his back, staring up at Dean with a sad expression. “I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean shushes him and takes hold of his hands, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs. “I don’t want you to apologize, I just wanna know what the hell happened.”

Cas looks away from him and gulps. “Well, we told you last night, right? We were meeting and then Crowley had the party, and I guess I just didn’t realize what was in the punch.”

“Yeah, and I really don’t like this Crowley guy, Cas.” Dean points his finger accusingly at thin air. “He’s always seemed sketchy, and puttin’ a face to a name ain’t helping his image in my books. And why were you there in the first place?”

Cas groans and pushes the covers off, throwing his legs off the bed and standing up. “Dean, will you please just let it go.”

“No, I won’t,” Dean retorts stubbornly and shuffles out of the bed too. “You were seriously fucked up last night, man. Do you go to Crowley’s house _every_ weekend?”

“Maybe…” Cas says, looking cagey as hell.

“I thought he just needed you to collect a few things for him.” Dean accuses, and tries his best not to sound like a jealous girlfriend. “And what the hell do they need you for next Friday?”

“Did they tell you that?” Cas advances on him, looking betrayed and worried.

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing they did because it sounds like you weren’t going to!” Dean accuses, throwing his hands up. “I thought we were going to the Harvest Dance together.”

He hates that he sounds like a petulant thirteen-year-old girl, but this was important to him, and it hurts that Cas was so easily going to throw him away. Something to that nature is obviously written all over his face because Cas softens up a little.

“It’s not going to conflict with our night together, I promise.” Cas takes his hands and moves in close. “I wouldn’t do that, Dean. I’ve been looking forward to this for way too long.”

“Yeah, you’re really showing it too.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“I know I haven’t been the most present person as of late.” Cas hangs his head. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to go with me-”

“Hey, no no that’s not it at all.” Dean pushes Cas’s chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Of course I still wanna go with you. But I need to make sure that you’re okay too.”

“I’m… I’m not.” Cas throws himself into his arms and Dean holds him tightly. “But I’m going to be. After this week, it’s all going to be fixed. I promise.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees, however reluctantly, but he’s gotta have a little faith in Cas.

He pulls back a couple inches to smile down at him, which Cas returns happily. Dean’s eyes flick down to Cas’s lips as he realizes how close they are to each other.

Cas’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips and before Dean knows it he’s chasing it with his own. Cas’s hands come up to drag through his hair, slotting their mouths perfectly together in an open kiss.

Dean groans and drags Cas in a little possessively but Gods he was so worried last night and now that Cas is back in his arms he just wants to kiss and claim his mouth until he’s gasping for breath.

Sam bursting through the door changes that plan a little.

“Gods Sam! Have you ever heard of knocking?!” Dean cries, as him and Cas jump apart. Sam gives him an incredulous look.

“Oh I’m sorry. The Dean Winchester I know doesn’t miss the first morning of the Harvest Festival for anything. Not even his new boyfriend. Hey, Cas. When did you get here?”

“Late last night. Sorry I kept him waiting,” Cas says apologetically. Sam at least has the decency to look slightly embarrassed at walking in on them.

“Alright, well be downstairs in five or dad’s gonna freak.” Sam turns and shuts the door with a click, leaving them alone once again. The heat from a minute ago has dissipated thanks to Sam’s rude interruption, so Dean just suggests that Cas join them for the first day instead of going back to the orphanage.

“I’d really like that,” Cas smiles. “But, uhm… could I borrow some clothes?”

Dean looks down at Cas’s very bare legs, remembering peeling off his pants late last night. “Yeah, sure. Your clothes aren’t very suitable for farming I guess.” He searches through his drawers and pulls out a worn pair of jeans (and a belt to keep them up) as well as a flannel shirt. “Here, put these on and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Cas takes them but rests a hand on Dean’s chest to stop him from leaving. He surges up for one more heated kiss before kicking him out the door.

The first day of the Harvest is fantastic as always. The Winchesters, Cas, and a couple other families from town are put in charge of bringing the pumpkins from the patch onto carts to be sold. The Harvelles are one of the families helping out and Jo and Cas get along better than they have in weeks.

Cas himself seems more like the cheery guy Dean is used to having around. The past month has been rough for both of them, especially with being out with the relationship and Cas’s seemingly constant absence since then. Today was good; maybe all it took was a little fresh air to get Cas back to normal after all.

The rest of the week passes mostly the same as Harvest Festivals do. On Tuesday Cas is back with them to help sell the pumpkins, but the rest of the week he’s doing other tasks with his brothers and sisters at the orphanage. Thursday night the Winchesters have Jess and Cas over for dinner and it goes fantastically.

Before Dean knows it, it’s already Friday and the day he’s been patiently waiting for has finally arrived.

The day of the Harvest Dance.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas is a bundle of nerves on the night of the Dance.

He changes his outfit three times before settling on the first one he tried on. His best black dress pants, a clean white button down shirt, a blue neck tie and his favourite tan robe.

Of course he’s got more than one thing to worry about. Under all of his fancy clothes for the Dance, his body is painted in swirls and sigils with a thick concoction of lamb’s blood, all in preparation for what he’s going to do after.

He’s not happy about how much Crowley and the girls have kept secret from him about their little project but they’ve told him enough to know that it’s going to work, and that it’s going to change his life.

Castiel has been diligent in getting all of the items on the lists that they give him every week and memorizing all the spells he needs to know. Tonight all his hard work is finally going to come to fruition.

He was adamant that it not interfere with the actual Harvest Dance because he still needs some time reserved for Dean, but Crowley agreed that it was fine. The spell can’t be performed until the stroke of midnight anyways, so it’ll give him lots of time to dance with Dean before any of that has to happen.

He’s pulling at his tie one last time when there’s a knock on his bedroom door and he calls on them to come in.

“Oooohhh, Cassy look at you,” Jess says, eyeing him appreciatively. “I wish I was going.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You _are_ going, Jess. Everyone’s going.”

“Yeah but I’m not going _with_ anyone. That’s gotta be the best part, right?” she whines. “Anyway, your hot date is here.”

Cas takes a deep breath. “How do I look? Be honest.”

Jess gives him a once over.

“Like you were born in a barn.” Cas gapes at her. “What?! You said be honest. Besides, who cares? He loves you regardless of what you look like.”

He smiles a little at that and she rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, leaving the door open for him to follow her through. They hop down the stairs to find Dean at the doorway beaming up at them. Or _him_ , Castiel figures.

Dean looks so amazing in a crisp suit with brilliant red robes it makes Castiel feel a little self conscious about his own outfit. Maybe he should’ve gone with the second one.

Dean, however, steps right up to Castiel and gives him a quick peck on the lips. “You look great.” he says with such sincerity it makes him forget all about being insecure. Dean holds out one arm and Castiel loops his own into it. “Shall we?”

“You’re such a dork, Dean.” Castiel chuckles but allows himself to be led out the door and down the path.

The Dance is held at an old farm house owned by the town and it’s well within walking distance of the orphanage. Dean and Castiel run into Charlie and Gilda along the way, and they walk together, making polite small talk until they reach the enormous barn.

Every year it’s done up with gorgeous floating candles and festive decorations. Castiel recognizes some of the pumpkins they helped pick sitting on the long tables that take up one half of the room. Some of the town citizens were put in charge of preparing the buffet dinner for everyone tonight, Mary Winchester being one of them. She’s famous for her apple cinnamon pies. Castiel spots her fussing over an enormous plate of chicken and he gives a little wave, receiving a big smile in return.

About half the seats are already filled up so Dean and him find a secluded pair at one of the tables to the far left. Apparently word has gotten around town enough that they’re going together, but it’s in their best interest to stay out of everyone’s hair as much as possible. They flip the cards on their seats from vacant to occupied to reserve them and go and grab plates at the food table.

The food table is the longest one in the room and splits the space between the seating half of the barn, and the dance floor.

Castiel eyes it warily. It’s empty now, but after everyone’s eaten their fill, it’s going to be full of dancing couples and him and Dean are going to be one of them.

Dean distracts him out of his thoughts by handing him an empty plate and pointing at the steaming of mashed potatoes.

“The Henricksen’s make the best potatoes in town.” Dean beams, scooping up a large helping for himself. The Henricksen’s live only a few blocks away from them and their son, Victor is a couple years older than Dean and himself. He’s always thought that Dean had a little bit of crush on the guy. Tonight he decides to not tease him about it.

Castiel grabs some of the potatoes for himself and moves onto the grilled vegetables that Dean skipped altogether. The each put a good portion of grilled chicken that Mary is currently attending to.

“You two look so good.” she beams when they reach her.

“Mom, you’re embarrassing me.” Dean groans.

“Thank you Mrs. Winchester.” Castiel smiles and accepts the piece of chicken breast she hands him.

They fill their plates, head back to their table and dig in. There’s no real set time for when dinner starts or ends. People arrive throughout the night, some of them even leave before the dancing starts if that isn’t their thing. No one makes speeches or announcements and there’s no need for thank-you’s to select members of the community because everyone helped out. This night belongs to the town, not the Mayor, the ministry, or any other organizational body.

All of them are in attendance of course. Castiel spots Anna at a table a couple rows away, sitting with some other members of the ministry, and actually laughing for once. The Henricksen’s are at their table but Dean but seems to be entirely fixated on him and his eyes haven’t deviated once. Not that Castiel would really mind; Victor is pretty hot.

He even sees Naomi, strangely enough. She’s sitting alone, eating a politely small portion of food at the end of the long table on the opposite end of the room. He tries to catch her eye a couple times but her eyes never drift from her plate of food.

After him and Dean have cleaned their plates, gone up for seconds (grabbing pie this time, of course), and eaten all that they possibly could, the first couple brave enough takes the dance floor. It’s Bobby Singer, who owns the horse ranch on the outskirts of town, and his wife Karen. They get a couple whoops from the crowd, Dean being one of them.

Dean idolizes Bobby. Castiel isn’t sure what he loves more, the horses or Mrs. Singer’s pie. Though he’s got an idea that Bobby himself is the reason Dean likes to spend time there. John Winchester is constantly out of town for work and various things, and Dean looks up to Bobby a bit like a surrogate dad. The fact that Bobby’s up there first is worrying Castiel a little bit.

Sure enough, when Castiel looks back to Dean, he gives him a little questioning look like, ‘if Bobby can do it, so can we’.

Castiel feels doubt cloud his head. “Just… not yet,” he pleads. Dean sighs and gives a little nod. He will dance with Dean but he just wants there to be more people on the floor before they go up.

They pick at crumbs on their plates and chat politely to the folks around them for another fifteen minutes before Dean looks like he’s going to burst.

“Dean.” Castiel rests a hand on his upper arm to get his attention. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

Dean breaks out into a smile and does a little happy dance with his shoulders that makes him look like the most adorable idiot in the world. Castiel rolls his eyes and is promptly dragged out of his chair and led along the table by his hand.

His heart is pounding and there’s a flock of butterflies in his stomach but the reassuring look on Dean’s face is all he needs to calm him down. They approach the dance floor cautiously and from around one corner, doing as much as possible to blend in with the crowd. New couples always get a whole ton of attention that they’re trying to avoid as much as possible.

Dean pulls him in by the waist and interlaces their right hands together. Castiel’s other hand falls naturally to Dean’s shoulder but he frowns up at Dean judgingly.

“Why is your hand around my waist, but my hand is on your shoulder?” Castiel accuses.

“Because…” Dean coughs awkwardly, “you’re shorter than me.”

Castiel’s frown deepens. “By like, an inch and a half.”

“C’mon babe, just gimme a couple dances and then I’ll let you lead,” Dean pleads, Castiel sighs in reluctant agreement. “Two inches, by the way.”

Dean looks away with a smug smile plastered to his face. Castiel lets him have this one win and settles more snugly into his embrace. They hold each other close as they dance, keeping off to one corner of the room as they revolve slowly in small circles around one another.

It’s not long before Castiel feels the soul bond twitch and reach out for Dean’s half, and for once instead of fighting it tooth and nail, he just lets it happen. Lets the warm waves of comfort wash over him, calming him in a way that only their soul bond can. Just a month ago he would’ve rejected any close contact like this and never allowed himself to relax into the feeling of the bond, but everything’s different now.

Tonight all the suffering will end. And not just for him. Crowley says that every UnGuardianed person out there will never forget this day for the rest of their lives. He still doesn’t know how he’s possibly going to make an impact that large, but despite what Dean thinks, he trusts Crowley.

He thinks about the symbols painted on his body in lamb’s blood and the spells he has to remember. He starts to feel a little queasy.

“Dean, could we sit down for a bit?” Castiel pleads, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

“Yeah, sure thing Cas,” he nods, looking a little concerned. Dean leads them over to a table, not their original one and just right at the end. “You don’t look so good, I’m gonna grab you a glass of water.”

Dean runs off to fetch it and Castiel falls into a chair, holding his head between his hands. Meg did mention that all the training would put a slight strain on him, but he’d been doing so well this week. He actually thought it was getting a little better. All the preparation for the Harvest was keeping him active and busy and he was feeling much better than he had in the past month.

It could also be specifically today that’s messing with his body a little. Meg said that the symbols on his body are powerful and would most likely interact with the elements and the environment around him, even before the stroke of midnight. It’s also a full moon and Ruby said that was essential for the spell to work. Witches and their full moons… what a cliché.

Castiel closes his eyes for a minute and breathes deeply, calming his mind. Someone sitting near him tsk’s loudly and he opens his eyes and finds Naomi sitting a couple seats away. She looks furious.

“Can I help you with something?” he offers sarcastically. She unfortunately doesn’t pick up on his tone.

“You could leave,” she hisses, refusing to meet his eyes. Castiel is a little taken back by that. He knew him and Naomi weren’t best friends but he didn’t know it delved into actual hatred. “You should not be here. And you should not be here with… him.”

“I have just as much right to be here, and to be here with anyone I choose,” he retorts.

“You have no right.” She rounds on him, her eyes wild with fury. “You are an abomination, and flaunting your illicit, blasphemous relationship is disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself, Castiel.”

With that, she stands quickly and storm off, leaving Castiel feeling impossibly worse than he did five minutes ago. He expected this from his peers, and even from some old fashioned folk around town.

Naomi, however, is a respected member of a government agency. She works with hundreds of orphans all across the country, a good majority of which are UnGuardianed. Is this what she thinks of them all?

“Hey, here’s your wa—holy crap, what’s wrong?” Castiel wipes away the tears that have fallen down his cheeks and blinks the unshed ones out of his eyes.

“Nothing, nothing.” He grabs the glass of water out of Dean’s hand and takes a couple long gulps from it. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Dean sits down in the chair beside him and scoots it until their knees bump against each other. His hands come up to cradle Castiel’s face on either side, his thumbs lightly brushing any remnants of tears away. “Cas, you’re not okay. You gotta tell me what’s up.” Whatever sad expression is on his own face, Dean looks absolutely wrecked looking at it.

“There was just… someone, saying some stuff about how I shouldn’t be here and that we shouldn’t be together,” he mumbles. Dean’s expression turns angry.

“Who the hell was saying shit like that, Cas. I hope you told them that they’re fucking wrong. Of course you deserve to be here, for Gods sake.”

“Of course I told them that but,” he pauses there, unsure if it’s wise to spread around how Naomi feels about this topic. He figures he should trust Dean enough with this. “Dean, it was Naomi.”

“What?!” Dean looks like he just heard the best piece of gossip all year. Telling him this was a horrible idea. “Oh my Gods, we have to tell everyone. I mean… no one. Because this is horrible and she is an awful person.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow in discontent.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Dean pulls his face in and presses a peck to his forehead. “She’s wrong, you gotta know that, but like _Naomi_. Man she could get in so much trouble for saying that.”

“I know Dean.” And he does know. He knows that this is Dean’s really weird roundabout way of trying to make him feel better, because that’s what they do. They find strangely backwards ways of saying I’m sorry, and I love you, and I wish things were easier. He loves that about them. “Let’s just go back to the dance floor and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Dean sighs and nods once. “As you wish.”

Castiel smiles and stands out of his chair, holding a hand out for Dean to take. “Good. Because it’s my turn to lead.”

No one else bothers him about his right to be here for the rest of the night, and after a while Castiel even forgets all about Naomi. Dean has a way of distracting him like that.

They take another break from dancing to sit on the hay bales on the back porch of the barn because Dean’s feet started to hurt a little. As Dean nurses his aching feet for a while, Castiel curls into his side and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder for a while.

“I had a good time tonight, Cas,” Dean mumbles to the top of Castiel’s head. He hums in agreement. “We should do stuff like this more often. I was thinking-”

Whatever Dean was thinking, it’s cut off by the loud bong of a bell, and another mere seconds later.

It’s the clock striking midnight. Castiel jumps up in panic.

“Is it midnight already?!” He cries and runs inside, Dean trailing close behind him.

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” he calls, but Castiel isn’t listening. He’s looking at the four figures that just appeared in the centre of the dance floor. Crowley, Meg, Ruby, and Bela all stand in a perfect line, clad all in black, holding a bowl, and staring directly at him.

Why do they always have to be so dramatic?

The crowd begins to part around them as everyone glances from the four newcomers and Castiel, striding towards the group with determination.

“What are you doing here?!” he hisses at Crowley. “I thought we were going to do this privately. Outside.”

“No, no Cassy,” Crowley seethes at him, getting right up into his face as he raises his voice. He thrusts the bowl he’s holding into Ruby’s hands to hold. “There are a couple of things I’ve got to say to this town first.”

Everyone who wasn’t already staring at the strange group, certainly is now. Crowley tears his eyes away from Castiel to look out into the crowd, flicking between frightened townspeople with ease. Crowley is far too confident in scaring people.

“I see you got a good crowd out here tonight, Mayor.” Crowley turns his condescending accent on the town Mayor, Zachariah Adler, standing by his wife. He breaks away from her to face Crowley.

“Yes it seems like the whole town came out for the festivities.” Zachariah smiles, and clearly it’s the wrong thing to say as Crowley’s face contorts to an expression of pure rage.

“Oh not everyone, Mr. Mayor. See there are some who are considered not good enough to participate in town events. Some whose very existence is deemed illegal.” Crowley spins away from the Mayor to round on the people again. “I’m talking, of course, about the UnGuardianed.”

Some citizens look away from him, uncomfortable with what he’s suggesting. For a moment Castiel feels the same anger towards them as Crowley does and not only understands why he’s lashing out, but agrees with him full force. “I know their struggle because I am one of them. Labeled as unfit to practice magic, hold a job, go to school, or contribute to society in any way.”

Then, for some horrible reason, Dean decides to speak up.

“Look man, we get that it’s wrong, but there’s no sense in blaming these people here for laws that have been enacted for hundreds, if not thousands of years,” Dean protests. Castiel reaches out to hold him back but he shoos him away and strides towards Crowley. “That just ‘aint right.”

“You don’t have to tell me how long these laws have been around for Mr. Winchester. That isn’t what I blame them for anyway. It’s the uncalled for cruelty and apathy towards the plight of mine and other’s struggle.” Crowley takes the last couple steps towards Dean and Castiel’s heart drops to his stomach when he grasps Dean by the throat. There are a couple screams from the crowd as Dean scrabbles at Crowley’s hand closing off his airways. “Tell me, Dean,” Crowley starts up again. “When Cassy comes of age, without a Guardian, are you still going to stand up for him and be with him as you both become social pariahs? Or are you going to slink away like the rest of them and ignore the pain of an incomplete soul bond until you go mad with it?”

“Let him go Crowley!” Castiel bellows and feels every eye in the room flick to him. His eyes, however, are fixed solely on Dean’s slowly purpling face, gasping for breath. “Let him go, and let’s get on with this stupid fucking spell.”

Crowley releases his grip on Dean and suddenly both of them can breathe a little easier. Dean falls to his knees, holding his throat and retching out a couple dry coughs. Castiel runs to him and drops to rest on his haunches, taking Dean’s face between his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Dean who gives him a sad look. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but Crowley hauls Castiel up by the scruff of his collar before he gets the chance. In the scuffle with Dean he didn’t notice, but Meg, Ruby and Bela shut off all the exits to the farmhouse, trapping him and everyone else inside. The townspeople have noticed though and someone begins to cry. They’re shushed by a friend when Crowley throws them a dirty look before turning back to Castiel.

“Let’s get on with this, Castiel. Or do you have other friends you want me to strangle to get you to get a move on?” Crowley hisses at him and thrusts a slate knife into his hand. He’s never seen him so cruel before and it cuts Castiel deep to think that the person he placed trust in for the past month could so easily hurt him and the people he loves. _Gods_ he should listen to Dean more. Dean’s a great judge of character. Castiel’s eyes flick to him, still crumpled on the ground, and he gives Dean one last apologetic look before turning away and walking to the centre of the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.

When he drops the white button down on the ground, the crowd gasps at the markings painted across his pale skin. He must be a frightening sight. All the intricate, yet menacing patterns dancing up his forearms and down his chest. He hears someone whisper _is that Blood?_ and thinks, _yes but not my own_. Not yet at least. He looks down at the knife and gulps because soon his own blood will join that of the slaughtered lamb across his chest.

He reaches the centre of the room to check if Crowley, Meg, Ruby and Bela are in their places. It’s hard to see between the crowd but he spots each of them in the four corners of the barn, representing the four points of a compass.

Meg has finished the sigils she chalked on the ground, for connecting to the element of Earth, and is looking at him expectantly. Ruby and Bela finish theirs next, for Air and Water. Finally Crowley completes the symbol for Fire in his corner and gives Castiel a nod. Everything is ready.

Castiel looks to Dean one last time. Dean angrily shakes his head. Castiel furrows his brow. Though Dean may be an expert judge of character, it seems that he misjudged Castiel himself.

He’s not the good man Dean thinks he is.

He raises the knife and cuts a slit under his collarbones, from shoulder to shoulder. Someone screams as the blood runs down in rivulets, dribbling over the dried on lambs blood and the sigils on his chest begin to glow. Then he begins to chant.

_Absens invocabo superi mihi traditae sunt amoris et benevolentiae ad hunc locum perventum est a tempore et spatio, et venistis ad me._

He makes a cut on his upper right arm so that the blood runs down the symbols on his arm and begin to glow as he chants the spell again. He repeats the ritual for his left arm. Then the wind starts up. It whips around the farm house in circles, inching closer and closer to Castiel, roaring in his ears as he continues to chant louder to compensate.

_Deorum enim subtracto ubicumque estis, ego te appello, qui pennis volare dicitur; omne, quod ad distantiam, traverse tempore et spatio, et videtur in oculis tuis._

He mentally commends the person whose scream is loud enough to hear over the crack of thunder and lightning that starts up, but he doesn’t let it break his concentration.

_Absens diis et intra regni terrestris converseris._

Castiel sees Meg light her match and drop it in the centre of her bowl. He knows the moment the other three do the same as a piece of wooden floorboard a couple feet away from him flies up off it’s nails and clatters somewhere off to the side. Castiel waits on bated breath, eyes focused on the quivering floorboards all around the missing spot. He chants the entire thing one more time and the room continues it’s earth shattering clamouring as a hundred more pieces of wood snap off their foundation and fly into the air, creating a large hole in the centre of the room.

Castiel notes just a second too late how the hole is inching towards him and a moment later, he crashes through the floor, falling ten feet and smashing into the firm ground below him. He throws his arms over his head, burying his head in his knees to stop the flying shards of wood whipping him in the face as they fall. He peeks his eyes open and finds himself caught up in the most horrific sight he’s ever seen.

It starts with a bone.

One, yellowing, ancient human bone. A tibia bone, maybe. He was never an expert at biology, but he knows a damn human bone when he sees one. The bone wriggles from the earth beneath him and hovers, roughly where a human shin would be, were there a person standing before him.

More join it quickly, hovering in random places, but each making sense as more join it. Like a puzzle, the yellow bones begin to fit into a picture. By now, Castiel has removed his arms from in front of his eyes, and is staring open mouthed at the fully formed skeleton in front of him. As if the scene couldn’t get any more horrifying, two more skeletons begin to from beside it, one standing significantly shorter than the other two. Their hollow eyes stare down at him.

And oh Gods, when he said it couldn’t get more horrifying he couldn’t have been more wrong. Sinew and muscle begin to spontaneously grow from the bare bone, covering it in pink, stringy biotic material. Castiel looks on horrified as organs begin to form inside the ribcage and skull. First the brains, and then the throat grows down from there, filling into lungs and stomach. Intestines follow that and a heart appears in each of their chests, spawning veins and arteries that begin to pump blood. Eyes find their sockets and nails grow on their toes and fingers. Finally, pearly skin appears on the body in the centre and off to the left, while ebony flesh grows on the one to his right.

Pure white, cotton robes sew themselves perfectly onto the three bodies standing before him. Finally, iron from the soil rises and molds itself into a crown and rests themselves on the dark haired heads of the men standing before him, their bodies finally complete. The iron crown on the man in the centre stands the tallest, and his dark brown eyes bore into Castiel’s.

“Who dares to call us forth at this time,” he bellows, his voice echoing off the large, silent barn and Castiel hears windows shatter above him and glass rain down on the townspeople below. His mouth falls open unconsciously as he takes in the sight before him. Each man is so majestic in his own right, but his eyes are drawn to the man at the centre, standing tall and r-

“Jeez, Mikey tone down the drama, would you? And turn down the volume a little, you’re gonna bust my ear drums.”

Castiel is broken from his reverie to stare in confusion at the short man to the far left, currently rolling his eyes at the man in the centre.

“Gabriel, must you always be so crude?” the man on the right says, throwing the short man an angry look. “It’s not so wrong to want to make a good impression.”

“They’re mortals, who gives a crap. They’re gonna be wowed by our presence anyways. Aren’t ya kid?” the short man asks with bright eyes. It takes Castiel a beat to realize he was addressing him. He gapes up at the three men, suddenly unable to form words.

“Oh my, have we gone back in time to the early stages of these primitive beings? Can they even talk?”

“He’s wearing clothes, Raphael. I think the mud monkey can talk.”

“It’s not so hard to find out. Say something, hairless ape. Prove me wrong.”

Castiel opens and closes his mouth, finding that he can’t remember a single word.

“What did I tell you, Gabriel. He is primitive and unable to form speech. Probably incontinent too from what I remember of these foul b—“

“I’m not incontinent.”

Of all things Castiel could think of to say, why did that have to be the first one?

“What is your name, child?” the man in the centre addresses him directly.

“Mikey, what did I say about the drama?”

“Castiel,” he says to the man, and then again to his companions. “My name is Castiel.”

A scuffle from the floor just above their heads makes the four look up. It’s Dean, being held back just barely by Sam.

“And whatever the hell you bastards want with him, you’ll have to go through me first!”

“Oh my, we have an audience,” the dark man, Raphael says. He’s not wrong.

The townspeople, apparently now unafraid of the large crater in the floor of their farmhouse, are lined all along the circular hole, peering down at the strange assortment of people on the ground below. Castiel notes that many of their faces are pointed down at him. He finds it strange that three skeletons just grew muscles and skin in front of them, but they still find him the most interesting thing to ogle.

“Where the hell are we, anyways?” Gabriel asks, peering around the dark, dirty basement under the farmhouse.

“The floor caved in when the spell started up and I fell down here,” Castiel offers. “You guys sprung from the ground.”

“Ah.” Gabriel nods, as if that’s a sufficient explanation. “Well although I love getting down and dirty in a metaphorical sense, I’m not enjoying the very literal interpretation too much. So— ”

Gabriel snaps his fingers and Castiel finds himself once again sitting above ground, on the hardwood floor of the old barn, both the wooden floorboards and the glass windowpanes intact. The cuts on his chest are mended and his shirt is even on again. Castiel barely has a second to react to the fact that _this guy just snapped his fingers and rebuilt a house_ before Dean tears himself away from Sam and jumps in front of Castiel.

“I said you can’t touch him, assholes.” Dean points his fingers accusingly at the man in the centre. Castiel hauls himself off the floor and grabs Dean from behind by the shoulders, trying to avoid any further conflict.

“Dean, maybe you should take it down a couple notches. I’m fine,” he whispers, close to his ear. Dean turns to face Castiel and allow him to step up beside him, instead of behind.

“I thought you were gone for good when you fell through the floor,” Dean admits, looking distraught as he holds Castiel’s hand close to his chest. “Now how do we get these idiots back to wherever the hell they came from?”

Castiel grins at him and rolls his eyes. “Dean. I think they’re supposed to be here.”

“You _think_?” Gabriel accuses, clearly listening to their whispered conversation. “Did you call us here on purpose, or not?”

“Well, umm…” Castiel pauses. How is he supposed to explain that not only did he have no idea who he was summoning, but he still doesn’t know who these three men are? “I’m sorry to be rude, but I’m not exactly sure who you are.”

The man in the centre raises an eyebrow in surprise. “I am Michael. This is Gabriel, and this is Raphael.”

He says each of their names with grandeur, like they are supposed to hold some sort of importance to him but their meanings go right over his head. He looks around to see if anyone else understands who these three men are but everyone seems just as oblivious as he is.

Save for one, extremely elderly minister standing to Anna’s left. Her opalescent eyes shine wetly with tears and her mouth quivers in awe. Very suddenly, Castiel realizes who they must be.

“Our names have been lost to the history books I see,” Michael says with an odd expression. “We are the makers and rulers of the Earth and Heavens.”

Castiel feels his heart nearly stop in his chest.

“You’re the Absent Gods,” he whispers in awe.

The room goes so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Castiel curses himself for being so stupid. How on earth did he just perform one of the most powerful summoning spells known to man, and not realize he was calling back Ancient Gods?

“Well don’t everyone bow at once,” Gabriel laughs awkwardly. The entire room comes to it’s senses and suddenly drops to their knees in obeisance, Dean included. Then Castiel feels like more of an idiot because his knees can’t seem to bend and his feet won’t budge because he can’t get over the shock that he called the fucking Absent Gods back from the dead.

“I was just joking,” Gabriel adds, looking out at the crowd, specifically towards the group of ministers weeping and bowing near his feet. Castiel sees Anna among them and realizes how huge this must be for her. Even Crowley and his companions, who have wriggled out of the shadows, are bent at the knee and waist, their noses brushing the ground in a bow so low.

No one seems to notice or care that Gabriel said he was joking about the bow. They’re all so caught up in giving themselves to these other worldly beings that for the past who knows how many millennia, have been just that. Other worldly.

Castiel’s never given much thought to what he would say or do if he ever came face to face with the Gods, mostly because it was so far from possible there was no point in contemplating it. Yet somehow, he didn’t think the first thing he’d turn to was sarcasm.

“That’s good because I wasn’t going to bow anyways,” he deadpans. Anna’s red hair flies in his direction.

“Castiel do not speak that way. Bow to them. Know your place.” she hisses.

“No, Anna.” He shakes his head, taking long deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. “Why would I want to give my obedience to people who have done nothing but cause me hardship and pain.”

The Gods look a little taken back at that, and Raphael’s face in particular is contorted with rage.

“Michael are you really going to let a mere mortal speak to us this way?”

“No I like him. The kid’s got balls.”

“Raphael. Gabriel. Please stop.” Michael holds his hands out to his companions, or brothers he supposes. “Tell us what we have done to bring out such pain in one so young.”

“What have you done?” Castiel parrots. “Nothing. You’ve done absolutely nothing, and that’s exactly the problem.”

Michael’s brow furrows sadly and the bastard still doesn’t get it.

“All my life, all I’ve ever heard is how glorious and great the Absent Gods were, and how all they gave us was so fantastic and we were the ones that screwed it all up.”

“Absent Gods?” Raphael chimes in, looking to his brothers. “Oh my, is that what they call us?”

“Of course it’s what we call you!” he cries, getting furious with their ignorance. “The only thing we’ve ever had proof of you doing is abandoning us! And now, because of what some stupid ancient civilizations did thousands of years ago that made you get angry enough to leave the Earth to it’s own devices, I’m going to get punished for it.”

He’d stop there but now he’s on a roll. Everything that’s made him furious his whole life just comes pouring out of his mouth in spiteful words.

“I don’t know if you ditched us for some better planet out there, or if you just got bored, but whatever shitty excuse you’re going to give for releasing the Earth from your Guardianship, I don’t want to hear it!”

“Hold on a minute kid.” Gabriel holds up a hand. “What the hell is Guardianship?”

Castiel nearly screams in frustration and decides to tear out a chunk of his hair instead. Finally, someone else decides to join the conversation. Mayor Zachariah Adler stands up on shaky legs, still very intimidated by the Gods.

“Castiel is referring to the sacred bond that connects each generation of witches and warlocks. To be Guardianed is to be deemed fit to practice magic in all forms. It is how we designate that magic remains legitimate and still blessed by the Gods.”

“The problem,” Castiel interjects, glaring at the Mayor, “is that not all of us have a Guardian at birth.

“This boy is angry because he is one of the UnGuardianed. Please forgive his blaspheme, he does not represent the views of our town in the slightest.” the Mayor begins reassuring the Gods in the most condescending tone Castiel’s ever heard. He’s always had a decent amount of respect for the Mayor, but after this little display he realizes that Zachariah is just another pawn in this game of privileged assholes hell bent on ruining his life.

“No, I’m angry because our laws make it pretty much impossible to find a Guardian later in life and I’ve done nothing so wrong as to deserve this!”

“I think your little display of illegal necromancy today proves why Guardianship is an essential part of society, Castiel.”

“For the last time,” Castiel fumes, his hands balling into fists. “Necromancy is not illegal, it’s just frowned upon.”

“SILENCE!” Michael bellows, his voice once again that of a booming God. Castiel throws his hands over his ears to muffle the ear splitting static noise that follows. “I see that your world has changed much since we departed it, and that over the centuries our farewell has been misinterpreted. However, I see that this boy here, has the right idea.”

Castiel lowers his hands from his ears, praying he heard that properly. He glances behind him to give Dean a puzzled look. There’s a proud grin spreading on his face and Dean gives him a quick nod. Castiel gives him one in return before turning back to the Gods.

“My people, I ask that you rise and make yourselves a little more comfortable,” Michael says, almost with a hint of apology. The townspeople look around awkwardly at each other before rising up on their knees. Some take a seat on the ground, some grab chairs from the dining tables, some choose to stand. The ministers bring the Gods three chairs to sit on as well, bowing profusely as they walk away from them.

It’s probably the strangest thing Castiel has ever seen. A couple hundred unimpressive folks sit in a semicircle around the three most magnificent beings to ever have existed like it’s story time in pre school.

“Millennia’s ago, when we left,” Michael starts up his magnificent voice once again making this meeting feel holy, “it was not out of anger, or spite. The human race had not done anything wrong. They had done everything right.”

“You had begun to band together, creating not just small villages, but grand civilizations. Art, language, and governance were being formed by these grand civilizations. All with the aid of the magic of the Earth. Because you see, that is where magic is bound to. We did not give you the power of magic. We are the rulers of many worlds that do not have magic. Yours is an exception.”

“So if our power is derived from the Earth, and gains legitimacy that way, why do we need Guardians?” Castiel asks, running on the last dregs of adrenaline to keep him standing and defiant. Michael smiles up at him and shakes his head.

“What I am trying to say, my child, is that you do not need Guardians.”

Castiel’s mouth falls open and even the rest of the crowd cannot hide their shocked gasps at his statement.

“To presume that anyone and everyone should be allowed to do magic is preposterous!” Zachariah exclaims, looking around to see if he has any support.

“To deny someone their human right to practice magic is preposterous, in my opinion,” Michael states, staring down Zachariah who falls back to his knees under the powerful gaze of the God. Michael turns back to the rest of the crowd. “Does everyone understand?”

In a true miracle sent from the heavens, the citizens of this small town look at one another and begin to nod in agreement, at last defying their arrogant Mayor. Castiel smiles at them, proud of his peers and friends. Crowley was wrong, and he underestimated them. Michael’s smile joins his own.

“Good. I see that our work here is done, then.” Michael, Raphael and Gabriel stand from their chairs and Castiel’s heart lurches because _no, they’re not done_. He’s not done.

“Wait, stop!” he cries as Michael raises a hand. “You’re not done, how are you done?! All you’ve accomplished is telling a couple hundred small town folks that Guardianship is bullshit. What is that going to do?”

Michael peers down at him with a confused expression. “They will spread the word, as our early disciples once did.”

“Yeah, because that worked out so well the first time!” Castiel scathes sarcastically.

“Progress will take time, young one. But soon there will be change,” Michael says and his stupidly calm voice just makes Castiel more angry.

“I don’t have time! You’re presuming that everyone will somehow believe us that we summoned the Ancient Gods and they told us that Guardianship needs to be thrown away. Even if that’s possible, it might be decades away! You’re asking me to remain UnGuardianed for all that time and to have faith that things will change, and you’re going to do nothing to fix your mistakes.”

The Gods regard him strangely. Raphael looks angry with his outburst, Michael’s face seems to hold no emotion, and Gabriel’s expression he can’t quite place.

“Well-”

“Hold on, Mikey,” Gabriel cuts in. “What’s the big deal about waiting, kid?”

“If I don’t have a Guardian…” Castiel starts sadly, glancing back to where Dean is standing but not meeting his eyes, “they won’t let me complete a soul bond.”

The Gods then regard him with a sense of realization. Well it’s a good thing they know what a soul bond is then…

“No way,” Gabriel says in awe. “They can’t deny you love, man.”

Castiel shrugs because apparently yes they can.

“Who is your intended?” Raphael asks. Castiel gnaws on his bottom lip in worry, but a hand laces through his own and he looks to his right to find Dean standing proudly beside him.

“Uhm, that would be me,” he says, and a couple people ‘aww’.

“Aah, Mr. If-You-Want-Him-You-Have-To-Go-Through-Me-First,” Gabriel says with a knowing smile. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Gabriel walks over to them, snapping his fingers once along the way. A thin piece of paper appears out of thin air, along with an ornate pen secured in Gabriel’s hands. The God looks down at the paper quizzically.

“What is that?” Castiel asks quietly.

“It’s your Guardianship application form,” he says monotonously, as if Castiel should’ve guessed. “I’m going to sign it for you.”

Castiel’s died and gone to heaven. There’s no other possible way any of this could be happening. His heart slowly pounding in his chest and Dean’s hand squeezing the circulation out of his hand tells him differently though.

“Hold this for me.” Gabriel hands him the pen, pulling him out of his trance and snaps his fingers again, this time creating a tall, podium-like table. He sets the form down on it and snatches the pen back. Gabriel observes the paper in confusion for a few moments before Castiel snaps back into action.

“Intended Guardian signs here.” His shaking hand points to the dotted line at the bottom of the form. Gabriel signs it in flowing writing, his letters curling beautifully into each other. He pauses at the end to add a dash, and the words ‘Absent God’. It makes Castiel laugh a little at how ridiculous the whole situation is.

“Is that it?” Gabriel asks, still glancing down at the form.

“No I also need a last name,” Castiel realizes.

“All right, well what do you want it to be?” Gabriel looks back up at him, his pen poised over the empty last name box. Castiel is at a loss. He figured he’d always take the last name of whoever his Guardian ended up being, but he doesn’t think Gods have a last name at all.

A cough from the crowd makes him, Gabriel and Dean look up.

Mary Winchester is standing just a couple feet away, with Sam and John at her sides, looking at her with grins on their face.

“What about Winchester?” she suggests with a sly smile and Castiel’s heart soars. He looks immediately to Dean at his side, who’s looking at his mother with amazed shock.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, tugging at his sleeve a little. They lock eyes and the world melts around them. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” Dean repeats, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “If you wanna be Cas Winchester, you would make me the happiest damn person in the world.”

“Good.” Castiel smiles and not even all the forces in the world could stop him from leaning up to place a kiss on Dean’s smiling lips. He breaks away quickly because the crowd starts groaning and he doesn’t want to make a bigger show of their relationship than it already is. Besides, Castiel knows they can both feel their soul bond glowing brighter than it ever has, filling them with pure, unadulterated joy.

Castiel looks back down at form to find the last name box filled in. It’s amazing that a certain assortment of letters placed on a line can make him so ridiculously happy. Dean hugs him tightly from behind, pressing his face to the top of Cas’s head.

Michael and Raphael once again make themselves known, stepping forward towards their brother.

“We have decided that the child is right,” Michael commands. “It is essential that this time we are the ones to make ourselves and our wishes known to this world. We will start immediately. Will you join us, Gabriel?”

Gabriel thinks for a moment, glancing between his brothers and Castiel. “I need to make sure whoever’s in charge of this Guardianship crap gets this kid’s form.”

Michael and Raphael nod in understanding. In the blink of an eye, the two Gods disappear. The crowd backs away shocked, still in awe of the power of the Gods, understandably so.

Gabriel turns back to Castiel. “Well I better be off too, I’ve gotta hand your form in and make sure it gets approved this time.”

“Okay,” he whispers, holding back tears of joy that threaten to fall.

“Before I leave, I just wanted to tell you one thing kid.” Gabriel sets the paper and pen down on the tall table and grasps Castiel’s arms, turning him out of Dean’s grip to face him head on. “I think a lot of people have told you that you aren’t whole, Castiel.” Castiel blinks in shock. He supposes that while no one’s ever directly said it that way, that’s the accusation under their words.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Gabriel nods sadly. “So I’m gonna be the first one – and better not be the last – to let you know that this piece of paper doesn’t define you. It’s gonna make your life a lot easier, but it’s not going to change who you are. Guardian, soul bond, or whatever, you don’t need something to make you complete. You’ve always been that way.”

Castiel can’t stop the hot tears that fall from his eyes and run silently down his cheeks. He can only let himself be pulled in by Gabriel’s strong hands and bury his face in the God’s white tunic. Gabriel tightens his arms around his shoulders wracked with sobs. Being held by a God is truly the most blessed he’s ever felt, he’ll never forget this sensation for the rest of his life.

At last Gabriel releases him. Thankfully the cool, calming feeling continues even as Gabriel lets him go. He falls immediately back into Dean's arms, gripping the front of his shirt tightly. The God snaps his fingers one final time and the table and the pen disappear. He tucks the form into a fold on his tunic.

“Alright kiddo, now that that’s out of the way, can someone tell me what that delectable looking thing is?” Gabriel points to the end of the buffet table where Mary’s famous apple pie sits.

“It’s pie,” Dean offers. “Have you never had pie before?” Gabriel shakes his head and Dean regards him as if he’s grown another head. “Oh boy, you’ve gotta stay for pie. It’s a life changing experience.”

Gabriel laughs at Dean’s sentiment. “Well, I’ve already had a couple of those today. What’s one more? Let’s have some… pie.”

A couple people cheer in agreement and Mary beckons Gabriel over to the buffet table, grabbing a knife off the table to slice the pie. Dean and Castiel follow them over and pull up seats at a table near by.

In all the Harvest Festivals the town has ever held, they never forgot the one that made the Mayor quit his job, served an Ancient God apple pie, and, quite literally, changed the world.

 

**~EPILOGUE~**

“I’m nervous.” Dean’s eyes sparkle at him across the dewy lawn.

Castiel sighs, breathing in the fresh morning air.

“Me too.”

April. They decided to do it in April.

They were both eighteen. Both fully confirmed Guardianed adults. Why wait?

“I think the whole town came out for this,” Dean says, peering through the small opening in the tent they’re standing under. “Gods, is that a newspaper reporter? Tell me our soul bond ceremony ain’t gonna be headline news, Cas.”

Castiel laughs at Dean’s appalled tone.

“Well I wouldn’t exactly be surprised…”

Their story had inspired an unconventional amount of support. From their friends (finally), the town (surprisingly), and what was soon becoming the world.

Castiel thought much of it probably had to do with the fact that Gabriel - in addition to travelling the world and telling anyone who would believe him that he was an Ancient God from the past who had come back to set things right - would beg anyone who would listen to approve Castiel’s Guardianship papers and let him and his hunky boyfriend get soul-married pretty please and thank you very much.

In fact, it was probably the God himself that was attracting so much attention out there, having insisted that he preside over the ceremony. He was, after all, Castiel’s designated Guardian. And so, in keeping with tradition, Dean’s Guardian decided to ordain the ceremony as well. Meaning of course…

“Oh Gods, my dad looks so uncomfortable.” Dean groans.

Castiel peeks his head out the curtain door of the tent. He was going to wait until the ceremony started to see the setup, but Dean’s running commentary is just too distracting.

Whatever inhibitions Castiel had about letting Sam and Jess decorate the Winchester’s backyard for the ceremony disappeared immediately. Together, their siblings had turned the Winchester’s plain backyard into a sparkling woodland wonderland.

The trees that stood in the yard were hung with beautiful cascading ivory curtains, strung up to block out a certain part of the large grassy backyard for the ceremony. Between the trees sat twenty or so wooden stools, arranged haphazardly but with enough thought that there was a small aisle artfully dusted with leaves for them to walk through.

Castiel spotted Sam and Jess in two of the seats, sitting beside Mary and near a number of their friends from school. Some children from the orphanage, as well as Anna, sat a little more to the back. A number of her ministerial friends asked if they could attend, in their words, what was going to be “the most important soul bond ceremony to ever take place.” They didn’t have a hard time saying yes.

The attention their story had received was a little unnerving to say the least. First they had to sort out all the legal business with the government, proving the validity of the Guardianship and getting confirmation that Gabriel was indeed who he said he was. Castiel isn’t sure how Gabe managed to prove to the top government officials that he was a God, but apparently they are all very believers now.

There was also the matter of Crowley, Ruby, Bela, and Meg of course. The courts wanted to try them all for murder and treason. Castiel was horrified to learn of some of the things they had done before meeting him, and what the fate of his predecessor was, but was happy with the conclusion of the case.

Crowley was convinced on all charges but the witches were set free, as they each presented substantial evidence to help convict Crowley, and it was discovered that they themselves had not murdered anyone. He extended an invitation to them for the ceremony, but only one had apparently taken him up on it.

Meg sat in the very last row, off to the corner of the yard. Her arms were crossed and she was jigging her leg impatiently, but he was glad that she had come. They, more than the other three, had bonded somewhat over the course of the last few months. He had even convinced Gabriel to be her Guardian as well, finally allowing her the freedom she deserved to conduct her life as she willed.

Castiel dragged his eyes away from the back row to look up at the small stage that Jess and Sam had set up at the front. Gabriel and John Winchester stood upon the raised wooden platform that was covered in the same leaves that trailed up the aisle. A small archway stood centre stage, wrapped like a trellis with sweeping vines and pure white peonies.

The early morning sun cast deep orange light upon it all. Dean had dragged him out of bed so early for this, but seeing how it all looked, Castiel could admit that it was worth it.

Overwhelmed with the beauty of it all, “Your father does look quite awkward.” was all he said.

Dean, sensing his trepidation through the soul bond, which had been excitedly bouncing between them all yesterday and through to this morning, walked the few feet between them and took Castiel’s hands into his own.

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean whispers, smiling warmly. Castiel returns his smile and squeezes his hands tightly. “Are you ready?” Dean asks, raising one eyebrow.

Castiel breathes deeply and nods.

“As I will ever be.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://www.deanisthesun.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading :) love ya.


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